


Unwanted Gifts

by wesleysgirl



Series: Unwanted Gifts [1]
Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 11:37:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleysgirl/pseuds/wesleysgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after Season 3. When Cordelia passes the visions to someone else on the AI team, a complicated series of events follows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unwanted Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Neige, for her tireless and invaluable assistance.

 

  
  
_"You _have_ to let me do this," she said determinedly.  
  
"Not allowed," echoed Skip's voice from somewhere behind her.  
  
"Then I take it back," she countered. "I take it _all_ back. I'm not staying. I'm not going to do the work that needs to be done."  
  
"You already agreed," Skip said, sounding unsympathetic.  
  
"Then I - I _un_ agree. You don't understand. They _need_ this. There's work down there on earth that needs to be done, too, you know, and you can't just take this away from them. They _need_ it."  
  
"All _right_ ," sighed Skip finally. "Geez, you're a pushy one, aren't you? Three minutes. That's it."_  
  
  


* * * * *

  
  
"Oh, crap," Cordelia said.  
  
Wesley was aware of looking haunted, underfed, and utterly shocked.  
  
"Cordelia?" he asked in a small voice. "What... what are you doing here?"  
  
She was dressed in a flowing gown and looked even less like her normal everyday self than she had in Pylea. She was surrounded by a shining, glowing light that seemed to come from within.  
  
"You're not...?" asked Wesley.  
  
"Dead? Pffft! Of course not. I've ascended to a higher level."  
  
"What? I don't think I under..."  
  
"Wesley. Shut up and listen - I only have a couple of minutes." She stepped closer to where he was standing and put a finger up against his lips to quiet him. He felt only the slightest hint of pressure - she wasn't corporeal, obviously.  
  
"The Powers That Be called me, and I had to go. Well, I didn't _have_ to go, I mean - I had a choice, but they needed me. You know, blah blah, there's work to be done. I finally managed to convince Skip that they _had_ to let me come back."  
  
"And why did you come here in particular, I'm wondering?"  
  
"Beats the hell out of me. They didn't give me a choice... next thing I knew, here I was."  
  
Wesley grunted. "Little late to be showing an interest now," he said.  
  
"Wesley, shut up and _listen_ to me. Your little pity party will have to wait. This is my only chance and I'm not gonna let you screw it up for me."  
  
"So what is it you want from me?"  
  
"I need you to tell Angel..."  
  
Wesley held up a hand. "Not interested. We're not on speaking terms, and we're not going to start speaking just because you decided to send him a message from the beyond."  
  
"Damn it, Wesley!" Cordelia stomped her foot. "Shut _up!_ You are going to _listen_ to me and you are going to do what I tell you to do."  
  
He looked skeptical.  
  
"You need to tell Angel what happened. I was supposed to meet him and I never showed. I need you to tell him that... that I love him."  
  
Wesley rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "I'm hardly an appropriate messenger under the circumstances."  
  
"It's not that simple," said Cordelia.  
  
"When is it ever?"  
  
"Not now." And she stepped forward and pressed her lips against Wesley's in a phantom, ethereal kiss. "I love you, too, Wesley. And Gunn, and even crazy old Fred. Don't forget."  
  
She stepped back and smiled at the look of astonishment on his face.  
  
"Worked this time," she said. And vanished.  
  


* * * * *

  
  
Later that evening, Wesley, still unsure if he had dreamed the whole incident, poured himself another glass of wine and sat down with a book. The first bottle of wine lay on its side, tipped over on the countertop, abandoned.  
  
Wesley didn't think about Angel anymore. Or Fred, or Gunn, and certainly not Cordelia. He wouldn't think about her now, either. Assuming that she _had_ actually been standing in his living room for a brief moment in time, what had been so bloody important that she'd come to _him?_ No, he was _not_ thinking about her. Not.  
  
He'd been thinking about returning to England, actually. There was a slight chance that the Watcher's Council would take him back - he could, effectively, turn back time, return to the place and person he'd been before he'd been sent to Sunnydale and this whole inconceivable mess had unfolded. It would probably require that he reconcile with his parents, who would no doubt be smug and haughty at his return. That didn't bear thinking about - if he returned to who he'd been, it would all wash clean around him. When you had Rightness and Superiority on your side, you didn't need to feel other people's distaste.  
  
He had just poured another glass of wine in the kitchen and was debating how he could break the lease on his flat when the light of a thousand suns flew forward into his face like a missile. There was a brief instant in which he wondered if there had been a nuclear explosion, and then he was assaulted with a montage of images - Angel's face, tormented - metal bars - a screw-gun twisting at metal. Each flickering image was like a physical attack, knocking the wind out of him. Each flash was like a hot poker being stabbed directly into his brain. The pain of one image hadn't ended before the next was upon him, so that the level of pain grew steadily higher. Angel's voice, saying "Listen to me!" Then darkness - Angel's face in the darkness - Angel falling as if in slow motion - "Listen to me!" He was jerking away from the images, as if he could escape them. A metal box like a cage - Angel.  
  
Something hard and unyielding was pressed to his face. It was hard to breathe, and his hands were clutching for something, anything. His right hand struck wood and grasped on. When his eyes opened, he saw that he was holding a chair leg and that the surface pressed against his face was kitchen linoleum. Linoleum that was badly in need of mopping. He tried to move, and even the tiny twitch sent icicles of pain through his skull like blue flames. His eyes were burning and his lungs were burning and perhaps it was the whole world that was on fire. Robert Frost would have been pleased.  
  
After several more minutes of reluctant intimacy with the linoleum, Wesley managed to get his arms under him and pushed up onto his hands and knees. The lights were still on and the kitchen window was still intact, as was the now-empty bottle on the countertop, so chances were good there hadn't been a nuclear attack.  
  
Aspirin. Or codeine. Preferably codeine, but he didn't think there was any left. Painkillers along with hard liquor had made the nights go by in such a comforting blur. Wonder of wonders, there was a bottle of aspirin on the windowsill above the sink. Wesley managed to pry the bottle open and shake a dozen tablets onto the countertop - his hands weren't steady enough to remove only a few. His hand slipped on the wineglass and it shattered into the sink, shards of glass skittering in the basin. He decided to abandon the idea of a glass entirely for safety's sake. Instead, he took three aspirin tablets and then used his palm to scoop water directly into his mouth from the faucet. His face was rough and unshaven, and if he had thought he'd felt like hell before, he was definitely in at least the 7th Circle now. Just when he'd thought he might pull himself ashore, the bloody centaur shot an arrow directly into his head, and here he was leaking brain matter out onto the floor.  
  
Time passed, and after a lifetime or so Wesley managed to walk, somewhat crookedly, into the living room, where he sat down on the coffee table instead of the couch. The table was closer. Not nearly as comfortable, though. He shifted his weight slightly and winced as the motion sent another searing bolt through his temple and into his eye. He concentrated on sitting as still as possible. He stared at the floor and tried to think about nothing. The rug was hitched up a tiny bit in the center, and the urge to smooth it out was strong, but his utter lethargy was stronger.  
  
There was a knock at the door. He slowly went and opened it, and there was Lilah in all her serpentine glory. She pushed past him without waiting for an invitation and sat herself comfortably down on the couch.  
  
Wesley left the door open. "Think of the devil, and she appears," he said bitterly.  
  
"Thought maybe you could use a friend," Lilah said.  
  
Wesley glared at her. "Is that what you'd like me to believe the other night was about? Friendship?"  
  
Lilah fluttered a hand over her left breast. "Ooh, remember what I told you about those dirty looks."  
  
"Lilah, I don't know how to put this any more plainly. I don't like you. I don't care what happens to you, or those bloody people that you work for. You're not welcome here." His head was pounding abominably and all he wanted was some quiet.  
  
"You keep talking like that, I'm going to get the impression that you don't want me around," she said blandly.  
  
"Good. Get out."  
  
"I don't think you really want to..." She grunted as Wesley grabbed her by the upper arm and forcibly stood her up. He walked her to the door and, when she struggled to prevent him from propelling her through the doorway, he grabbed a handful of her hair. She squawked in protest.  
  
"Out." And Wesley shoved her out into the hallway without a trace of gentlemanly control.  
  
"Wesley. Trust me, you..."  
  
"Goodbye, Lilah," he said, and slammed the door in her face.  
  
His head was throbbing and his hands were shaking, and he realized that _this_ was the primal force that had surfaced when he'd been infected with Billy Blim's blood. Had it been here ever since, lurking just below his skin, waiting to get out? Or was it just that Lilah in particular held a talent for teasing it out of its hiding space? He went over to the couch and lay down, resting his head on his forearm and hoping that there might still be a chance that the aspirin would kick in.  
  
As much as he'd like to continue to deny it, he'd had a vision. A bona fide, Alan-Francis-Doyle-turned-Cordelia-Chase vision. Doyle had passed it to Cordelia without her knowledge or consent, and now she had done the same to him. His stomach was churning with a combination of excitement and fear. The childish part of him wanted to run in circles - we'll see who's a vital member of the team _now,_ shall we? His more mature half was concerned \- he knew what the visions had done to Cordelia's brain before she'd been offered the opportunity to become part demon. He and Angel had walked that road beside her, and he wasn't particularly interested in making a repeat journey by himself.  
  
Not that his lack of interest would make any difference. His hand had been dealt; now he needed to play it as best he could. With as few of his typical fumbling, card-dropping gestures as possible.  
  
He'd seen Angel - Angel in some sort of - cage? Cell? There had definitely been bars involved. But what had the screw-gun to do with the situation? And why had Angel been falling? Now Wesley suspected he finally understood why Cordelia had often been so vague when describing what she'd seen - the Powers That Be were tricksters, pure and simple. If they wanted to convey a message, why not show the whole story, in order? What was the point of breaking a meaningful film up into a series of mixed-up slides? He had too many questions and no answers.  
  
Damn Cordelia, anyway. She should at least have *told* him what she was intending to do, before she had kissed him and handed him this aneurysm on a silver platter. He was dizzy and aching and if she had been standing in front of him, he still would have found the energy to throw this psychic gift back in her face. Instead, he was lying here cursing her and wondering where on earth Angel was and how he was going to get up the courage to go to him and pass on Cordelia's message. Not that she deserved Wesley's loyalty. Silly twit.  
  
He'd call around a few favors, see if he couldn't discover where Angel was hiding out these days. Chances were good someone he knew had heard something. But first, he needed to talk to someone who would at least pretend to care. He picked up the phone and dialed from memory, while his head spun and his empty future with the Council spiralled away from him into darkness.  
  


* * * * *

  
  
Four Days Later:  
  
Wesley came through the front door of the Hyperion and paused at the top of the stairs. There was a light on in the office, but otherwise the place was dark and quiet. He made his way down the steps and over to the office's doorway before raising the crossbow that he had in his right hand. Aiming it, he took the final step into the doorway.  
  
Gunn was sitting at the desk reading something from a piece of paper. Fred was on the floor in the corner, curled up, a book in her hand. They both looked up as Wesley moved into the room, matching expressions of complete surprise on their faces.  
  
"Wesley!" cried Fred, standing up, the book falling unnoticed from her hands.  
  
Gunn jumped up and moved in front of Fred, blocking Wesley's shot. His eyes were dark and threatening. "Put that thing down, Wesley."  
  
Wesley didn't lower the crossbow. "Angel's not here," he said. It wasn't a question.  
  
"No, man. Put it down."  
  
"And do you expect him?"  
  
Gunn snorted. "We gave up on expecting him a couple a weeks ago."  
  
Reluctantly, Wesley lowered the weapon, resting it at his side, pointed toward the floor. "You haven't seen Angel in several weeks?"  
  
"Or Cordelia," said Fred nervously, peering around Gunn's arm at Wesley. "They both disappeared the same night. And Connor, too... but then, you didn't know? That Connor's back, I mean?"  
  
"I'm well aware that Connor's back from Quor-toth," said Wesley dismissively. "My current concern is Angel's whereabouts."  
  
"He's not here," repeated Fred. "At first, we thought maybe he and Cordelia went off somewhere together... you know, romantically. But then they didn't call or come back, and when Connor didn't come back either, we started to think that maybe they were in some kind of trouble. But we haven't been able to find them, and we're running out of places to look."  
  
Wesley carefully examined the two of them. Gunn looked exhausted, thinner than he had been, and Fred seemed just as tired. He sighed and walked over to the desk, putting the crossbow down on the blotter on top of some loose papers. He leaned against the desk and rubbed his own eyes, which were also bleary with lack of sleep.  
  
"I know where Cordelia is," he said wearily, and stopped, unsure of how to continue.  
  
"Where?" asked Fred.  
  
"Gone," Wesley said shortly. "From this plane, I mean."  
  
Fred wrung her hands together and then clutched at Gunn's arm. "You mean... back to Pylea? What are we going to do? How are we going to get her back, without Angel, and Lorne? And Groo - he's gone, too, you know..." she stammered, turning to Wesley.  
  
"Fred," Wesley said, gently. "She hasn't gone back to Pylea. She's... ascended. The Powers That Be needed her assistance, and she's... gone to work for them, I suppose you could say."  
  
Fred's face was blank. "She's not coming back?"  
  
"No."  
  
Every thought Fred had was racing across her face. "But... if Angel's not with Cordelia... then where is he?"  
  
"I'm beginning to suspect that I know that, as well," said Wesley. "It's rather difficult to..." Without warning, he suddenly dropped to the floor as if he had been pole-axed. The heel of his hand was pressed to his head and his body writhed uncontrollably.  
  
"Vision..." Gunn whispered. Then he said to Fred, "Get a glass of water and see if there are any of Cordy's old pain pills in the bathroom. Go!" He dropped to his knees beside Wesley and gripped the other man's shoulders, but the vision was already over, leaving Wesley gasping for air.  
  
"You okay?" Gunn asked.  
  
"Yes. I'm fine. Just give me a moment..." Wesley sat up, moving away from Gunn's hands.  
  
"How many have you had?" asked Gunn.  
  
"That's the third," said Wesley.  
  
"Cordelia's pills are gone," said Fred, returning with a glass of water and a bottle of generic painkillers. "All I could find were these."  
  
Wesley took the bottle from her, opened it, and tipped four capsules into his hand. He tossed them into his mouth and then swallowed them with the water. Handed the glass and bottle back to Fred.  
  
"Cordelia... she gave you the visions?" she asked. "Why would she do that?"  
  
"I don't imagine she felt she had much of a choice," Wesley replied. "She thought we needed them, I suppose."  
  
"Thought _Angel_ needed them, you mean," said Gunn.  
  
"Yes." Wesley grimaced and got up off the floor, ignoring Gunn's hand offered in assistance. "I'll go and leave you to your... whatever it was you were doing."  
  
"You're leaving?" asked Fred. "But... what about the visions? I mean... isn't it kind of our job to help fix things?"  
  
"It's _my_ job," said Wesley. "I'm perfectly capable of finding a solution to the problem on my own. I didn't come to ask for your assistance. I only came because I needed to verify that Angel wasn't here."  
  
"That's what you're seeing," said Fred. "In your visions, I mean - Angel."  
  
Wesley nodded. He shook himself briefly. "Regardless, I don't need your help." He picked the crossbow back up off the desk and turned to leave.  
  
Fred grabbed his arm and Wesley spun around. "Let. Go." he hissed, directly into her face.  
  
She didn't, and although he could feel her trembling, she raised her chin and looked him in the eye. "Don't leave," she said softly. "We want to help."  
  
Gunn gently disentangled the two of them, moving Fred back a foot and freeing Wesley from her grip. "We don't want to step on your toes," he said to Wesley in a quiet but determined voice. "But she's right. You _need_ our help. Maybe you don't want to admit it, but I think you know it."  
  
None of them moved.  
  
"I know there's a lot of water under the bridge," said Gunn. "We all said stuff, did stuff, that we wouldn't have done if we'd had our heads on straight. But we can get it past it, Wesley."  
  
"Please, Wesley," said Fred, still in that soft, soft voice. "Stay."  
  
"I can't." He couldn't. There was _too much_ water under the bridge. When Gunn had come to his door and Wesley had learned that he'd only come to see if Wesley could help Fred, he'd hit a new low. He wanted desperately to trust these two people, but he couldn't.  
  
"I can't," he said again. And he left.  
  
  


* * * * *

  


One week later:  
  
Gunn entered the hotel and immediately froze. It was dark, and Fred was still at the grocery store, and _something_ was in the hotel. The sounds were slight, as if the something were trying to be stealthy.  
  
Gunn had a large knife tucked into the back of his jeans, but the weapons cabinet was so close that he moved over to it and removed a small axe, leaving the knife where it was as insurance. He crept down into the lobby, identified the sound as coming from the bathroom, and tiptoed over to it. The sounds inside were muffled, and it sounded like something wet was sliming against the floor. Great. Some slime demon.  
  
Taking a deep breath and raising the axe, Gunn threw the door open.  
  
To discover Wesley, leaning over the sink, dabbing at a large abrasion that covered the side of his face. Wesley looked at him, saw the axe, and didn't react. He turned his face back to the mirror and pressed the wet washcloth against his bloodied skin again.  
  
"Gunn. I'm sorry to intrude," he said tiredly. "I was closer to here than to my flat, and it seemed... well, I shouldn't have come in. I'll go." He straightened up and stepped to one side, as if to slide past Gunn back into the lobby.  
  
Gunn put the axe down on the floor, took Wesley's arm in one hand, and backed him up until the backs of his legs were against the toilet. "Sit down," said Gunn.  
  
Wesley sank down onto the closed toilet seat lid with a sigh of relief.  
  
"Before you blow out of here again, at least let me get this cleaned up," Gunn said. "You don't wanna end up with some raging demon goo infection."  
  
"It wasn't a demon," Wesley sighed. "I suppose one could say that this injury is a direct gift from the Powers That Be."  
  
"They whack you with a big piece of the street?" Gunn looked confused as he studied the wound. He took a pair of tweezers from the medicine cabinet and used them to pick a bit of concrete from Wesley's face.  
  
Wesley winced involuntarily. "No, they gave me a vision that knocked me out, thereby causing me to whack myself with a big piece of the street."  
  
Gunn poured some hydrogen peroxide onto a gauze pad and pressed it against Wesley's raw skin. "Helluva way to thank a guy for doing their bidding."  
  
"Yes, I'll have to register a formal complaint." He took the gauze pad from Gunn's hand and blotted his cheek a few more times. "You were right," he admitted quietly, folding the pad between his fingers.  
  
"What?"  
  
Wesley looked up at Gunn. "When you said that I needed your help \- you and Fred, you were right. I can't do this on my own. If only because, at some point, my luck is going to give out and one of these bloody visions is going to knock me down in the middle of a crosswalk somewhere and I'll be run over."  
  
"Or in one of those demon bars you've been spending so much time in," said Fred from the doorway. "And a vampire or some other big scary will get you."  
  
"You've been..." Wesley stopped.  
  
"We been keepin' an eye on you," Gunn finished for him. "Yeah."  
  
Fred came in to the bathroom and took a small tube of salve from a shelf. Kneeling on the floor in front of Wesley, she gently smeared some onto his injury. "I'm glad you came back," she said.  
  
"I take it there's still been no sign of Angel?"  
  
"None. And still no Connor, either. You seein' Angel, in the visions, I mean?"  
  
"Yes, and they're all the same," Wesley said. "I suspect that I'm going to continue having them until I can find a solution to the problem. I can't quite figure out exactly what they're trying to show me... I can see Angel falling. Some kind of cage - metal bars - and it's extremely dark."  
  
"We," said Gunn.  
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
"Until _we_ can find a solution."  
  
"Oh, I see. Yes, right. Until _we_ can find a solution... or rather, until we can find Angel, I'd imagine."  
  
Fred sighed. "There's not a lot to go on," she said.  
  
"No," agreed Wesley. "But as endlessly frustrating as it is that the Powers That Be are feeling it necessary to take a mallet to my skull on a regular basis, I _do_ believe that they're trying to show me where Angel is. I just can't quite figure... and Connor's still missing, as well?"  
  
"Yeah, since that night," said Gunn. "We got a lot of theories, but no leads. Maybe Connor got into trouble, Angel had to bail him out of it. Maybe Wolfram and Hart got the both of them stashed somewhere."  
  
"I haven't seen Connor in the visions," said Wesley thoughtfully.  
  
Gunn jerked his head toward the lobby. "Come on out and have a sandwich or something. Tell us more about these visions."  
  
  


* * * * * 

  
  
Eight days later:  
  
Wesley and Fred appeared in the doorway to the office within seconds of hearing the front door open. Gunn came down the steps, his face downcast.  
  
"Nothing?" asked Wesley.  
  
"Not a thing," said Gunn. He took off his jacket and tossed it toward the couch, watched it fall instead onto the floor.  
  
"You tried that Dedravalt club?"  
  
"Yes, _and_ the one the pickle-faced guy there suggested, _and_ the one three alleys over from that one. Been all over this damned city and no one knows a thing about a vampire being held captive in a cage. Been to every seedy demon dive in LA and no one can tell me anything about a dark pit where people are held hostage. Nothing."  
  
Fred went over to him and rubbed his shoulder comfortingly. "We'll find something," she said.  
  
"Where?" asked Gunn. "We've tried _everything._ "  
  
"There must be something we're missing," said Wesley. "I don't know what it is, but it _must_ be there."  
  
"Not like we can just order up one of those visions of yours whenever we want a second look," said Gunn. "Or a ninth look, or a tenth look..."  
  
"It's just as well, really," said Fred. "They aren't getting any easier, are they?"  
  
Wesley shook his head, but the rest of his brain was mulling over the details of the vision he'd continued to have repetitively. Still lost in thought, he wandered into the office and started rifling through some papers.  
  
"I'm worried about him," Fred whispered to Gunn.  
  
"I know it seems bad, but remember, Cordy had the visions for, like, a coupla years before her brains started gettin all scrambled." Gunn smiled at her. "He's tough, he can take it."  
  
An hour later, Fred loitered in the doorway to the office, watching Wesley as he rubbed at his neck fitfully and tried to read from the computer screen at the same time. She went over and stood behind him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "You all right?" she asked.  
  
He turned his head to look up at her. "I'm fine," he responded. "Well, tired, I suppose. I wouldn't guess that any of us has been getting enough sleep lately."  
  
She started to gently rub at his neck and shoulder muscles, and he groaned and dropped his head down. "You should do something nice... you know, to relax," she said. "Like, I don't know, take a walk on the beach. Or listen to some music. Or, hey, if you want, I could run you a bath upstairs. I've got these nice little bath beads, they dissolve in hot water and they smell like oranges. It's like taking a bath in Florida or something..."  
  
Wesley patted her hand. "That's all right, Fred. I'm fine."  
  
But the little trap door between her brain and her mouth had opened, and the words continued to spill out, washing over him like wine. Or, quite possibly, wine too long turned to vinegar.  
  
"Sometimes, when I'm taking a bath I like to sink all the way down under the water - but not when I'm taking one with those bath beads, because they're all oily and it would get in my hair - because it's really neat to see the world that way. Everything above the surface of the water looks all wavy and crazy, like you're part of an aquarium exhibit, and everything under the water is all warm and soft and sane. And stuff sounds really funny, too... it's because of the way the water distorts the sound waves \- it's like there's cotton in your ears... it's all muffled and echoey, like maybe the way dolphins hear stuff, and..."  
  
"Wait a minute," said Wesley. "Say that last part again."  
  
"About the dolphins?" Fred looked confused. Gunn came in with a paper bag from the Chinese restaurant up the street.  
  
"No, no, about being underwater and the way everything sounds..." Wesley jumped up and started to pace the room quickly.  
  
"Oh, right... umm... oh, when your head's under the water everything sounds kind of muffled and echoey... that part?"  
  
"Yes, yes! That's it!" Wesley all but shouted. He took off his glasses and pointed them toward Fred, the fingers of one hand pressed to his mouth.  
  
"You want to take a bath?" asked Fred uncertainly.  
  
"No, I don't want to take a bath! _That's_ what I've been missing about the visions!" He paced back over to the computer, and then back again toward Gunn. "That's how everything sounds, in the vision. It never even occurred to me - I can't believe I was so bloody oblivious, but then I hadn't anything to compare it to, had I? It's _underwater!_ "  
  
Understanding tinged with horror slowly dawned on Fred's face. "Angel's underwater?"  
  
"That _must_ be it. It makes so much sense now that I think about it."  
  
"Don't get too excited, people," said Gunn slowly. "We may know where _not_ to look, but we sure as hell can't narrow down the search."  
  
Wesley deflated visibly. "Damn it all to hell," he said quietly, rubbing his forehead. "You're right. He could be _anywhere._ And he's probably out there in the middle of the fucking Pacific. But how did he get there? And how on earth are we going to find him?"  
  
"We'll think of something," Fred said finally, obviously trying to sound optimistic.  
  
"I'm going to take a walk," said Wesley. "I'll be back shortly - I just need some fresh air."  
  
How "fresh" the air ever was in LA was debatable, but Wesley felt better once he was moving. It seemed that all they were doing these days was standing still, and it was becoming nearly unbearable. He worried about what they would do if they couldn't find Angel. Then he worried about what he, personally, would do if they _did_ find Angel. Would he be forced to leave again? Would Angel even permit him to walk away this time? The endless thought-circles made him dizzy and the vision headaches didn't help matters.  
  
All right, he told himself. Stop all of this ridiculous worrying and move on to something productive. How would they locate Angel? It seemed likely that normal means wouldn't get them results - so it would have to be magick, then. He'd have to determine whether he was capable of performing it himself, or whether it would require calling in the bigger guns.  
  
He found himself headed back toward the hotel. He'd moved a fair number of his things into one of the rooms last week - it was easier for them all to be in a central location. He'd have to seriously consider moving everything back to his flat before they got Angel back, though.  
  
Fred and Gunn were waiting for him in the office. When he came in they both smiled.  
  
"Oh, good, you're home," said Fred.  
  
"I know what we have to do next," said Wesley.  
  


* * * * * 

  
  
Two nights later, Wesley came out of the office to where Gunn and Fred were leaning against each other on the couch. What they were doing could not, under any sense of the word, be called cuddling - it was more like exhausted slumping. Wesley looked no less tired, but he was smiling.  
  
"I found it," he said. His voice was tinged with satisfaction and something else less identifiable.  
  
"You found the spell?" asked Fred, sitting up. "Really?"  
  
"Really."  
  
"But you're not happy," said Gunn.  
  
"Not completely," admitted Wesley. "I'm... I'm not certain that I'm capable of performing the spell myself. I'm not sure I have the experience, and it's the kind of spell that... well, we only have one shot at it. If the spell fails, whether by error or interruption, I won't be able to try it again. We'd have to try to find an alternative..."  
  
"Stop," said Gunn. "We aren't gonna worry about that, because we aren't going to _need_ an alternative. We'll get it right the first time."  
  
"I'm going to need to go over some notes," said Wesley. "I'll deal with that in the morning, and after I've gotten things straightened out, we'll be able to make some more concrete plans. I'll have to gather some supplies, verify some information..."  
  
"What can we do to help?" asked Fred.  
  
"I'm sure there will be plenty," Wesley answered.  
  
The next morning, Wesley steeled himself and called Giles. He'd had the Watcher's work number stored away, just in case they needed to contact him for some reason. Still, he dialed the Magic Box wondering what his reception was going to be. He hadn't been in touch with Giles since Buffy had been brought back, at which point he'd only sent a brief email to ask how everyone in Sunnydale was doing.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hello, Giles... it's Wesley."  
  
"Oh," said Giles. He was silent for a moment. "How are you?"  
  
Wesley almost laughed. "I'm sorry," he said, apologizing for something he hadn't even done. "I - I need some advice, Giles. Spellcasting advice."  
  
He could hear Giles shift in his chair. "All right," said the other man quietly. "What are you working on?"  
  
"I need to do a form of a teleportation spell," said Wesley.  
  
" _You_ need to do it?" asked Giles. "Wesley, that's a high level spell. It's not the sort of thing you want to muck around with."  
  
"I know. I wouldn't be doing it if it weren't important."  
  
Giles sighed. "Well. What kind of teleportation spell are we talking about?"  
  
"Translocation."  
  
"So you want to recover something that's been lost? Locate it, and then recover it, I mean. I hope it _is_ something important, Wesley."  
  
"It is," said Wesley.  
  
"Did you lose some artifact? A book? And isn't there a way to get it back through more ordinary means?"  
  
"It's not that simple."  
  
"Wesley, I can't help you if you don't give me some details. What did you lose?"  
  
"Angel."  
  
There was no reply for a long moment. Then, "Oh, dear," said Giles. "I see."  
  
"Can you help?"  
  
"I can try," Giles said. "Do you have any idea where he might be? Are you certain he's still... are you sure he hasn't been..."  
  
"He hasn't been staked, Giles. And yes, I have a general idea of where he is. He's... somewhere at the bottom of the Pacific. In a sort of - coffin, I suppose you'd say."  
  
"How do you - all right, let's stick with what's important. Now I understand why a simple location spell wouldn't do."  
  
"Yes. I've found a spell that I think will work, but it offers some options as far as ingredients go, and I wanted to make the best choices possible..."  
  
"Wesley?" said Giles.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"You do realize... how dangerous a spell this might be, don't you?"  
  
"Yes," said Wesley. "I know. But I don't know anyone else who can do it. Do you?"  
  
"No," said Giles slowly, after a long moment. "That is... I did, but she's... not able to practice magic any longer."  
  
"Then it'll have to be me. I have to try _something._ "  
  
"Yes, I suppose you do." Giles sighed again. "All right. About those ingredients..."  
  
Later, Wesley hung up the phone and read over the notes he'd taken, trying to drill the information into his brain. What he really wanted to do was lay his head down on the desk and sleep for a week.  
  
"Wesley?" Fred was peering around the corner at him.  
  
"Yes, Fred, come in."  
  
"Is there anything I can help with?"  
  
Wesley shook himself mentally and smiled at her. "Of course. Here, why don't you help me make a list of the supplies we're going to need."  
  
"You look tired," she said quietly. "Why don't you go upstairs and lie down for a little while?"  
  
"I'm fine," he answered. "And this can't wait. If we can manage to get everything we need together, we'll be able to do the spell tonight. I've already got Gunn working on finding a boat."  
  
"I know," said Fred. "He thinks he found something - he was gonna go out there and check."  
  
"Good," said Wesley absently, looking over the notes he'd taken once more. "Once we locate Angel, we can do the Translocation spell to bring him to the boat. That's the plan, at least."  
  
"If you're just gonna do the spell to make him reappear - you know, all 'poof' - then why do we need the boat? Couldn't you just... magic him here to the hotel?"  
  
"It's not that simple," Wesley said, feeling as if his life had deteriorated into a series of repeated sentences. At least he hadn't had a vision for more than 36 hours. He wondered if the PTB would ease off on him now that he'd made an obvious commitment to adhere to their demand. "The spell takes an enormous amount of energy, and the further you have to move the object - well, person - the greater a toll it takes on the caster. So we have a better chance of success if the distance Angel has to travel - magically - is short. Shorter."  
  
"That makes sense," Fred said, nodding enthusiastically. "You mean like, there's only so much gas in your gas tank, so you can only go so far? And if you try to go further, you might not get all the way there."  
  
"Exactly," said Wesley, grateful that she'd grasped the concept.  
  
"So... what do we need to get?" She held pen poised over paper, ready to take down his dictation, and although his lips started moving, his mind was somewhere else entirely.  
  
  


* * * * * 

  
  


The air was cold out on the ocean. Wesley hadn't thought about that - wasn't prepared for the drop in temperature. The thin sweater he wore over his cotton shirt was insufficient, and he hadn't brought a jacket. He used the cold in two ways - to keep himself awake and alert, and at the same time to numb his mind for what was to come. Not for the spell - he was as ready as he could be for that - but for what would happen afterward, if the spell worked.  
  
Wesley had packed the things he'd been keeping at the hotel into two boxes, and stored them just inside the office door. He thought he'd either have time to get them himself, or he'd have Gunn bring them by his flat once... once everything was taken care of. He'd brought everything with him that they'd need for the ritual - all of the supplies, some bagged blood for Angel, a blanket and clothing. He'd remembered everything they might possibly want - except to provide for his own comfort.  
  
The engine cut out suddenly, and within half a minute the world was silent but for the gentle sounds of the waves lapping against the side of the boat. Wesley looked around for Gunn and saw him sitting with Fred, one arm wrapped around her shoulders. When he caught Gunn's eye the other man stood up and came over to him.  
  
"This where we start?" asked Gunn.  
  
"Yes," said Wesley. His own voice sounded tight and somehow too British. "We'll do the location spell from here, and then Translocate Angel from wherever the homing device leads us."  
  
"This is the easy part, right?"  
  
"Comparatively, yes," Wesley answered. This part of the spell was only to guide them to Angel's whereabouts - much simpler than physically translocating him, which he wouldn't do until they were as close as possible. "Now, if everyone could remain quiet and refrain from moving around while I do this - I'd like to be able to concentrate."  
  
Wesley sat down on the deck and closed his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to let everything around him fall away into the background. After a moment, he he began to speak. "Aradia, Goddess of the Lost; the path is murky, the water is deep, darkness pervades. We beseech thee - bring the light." He opened his eyes, and let his breath out in a sigh of relief when he saw the little spark of light floating in front of him, awaiting his instructions. "You've been conjured here to show us the way to our... friend." Wesley felt an ache in his chest as he said the word, hoping that the pause wouldn't do anything to disrupt the spell. He should have thought more carefully about the proper word to use. Stupid, taking chances because he wasn't prepared. "Guide us to Angel," he said softly.  
  
Immediately the little light moved away from him and started out across the water to their right. Wesley glanced over at Gunn, who said to the boat's captain, "Okay, now, just like I told you - follow that light." The engine started up again and the boat began to move in the same direction that the light was travelling. Wesley got up and went to stand against the rail, eyes intent on the glowing spark.  
  
He felt a hand on his arm but didn't look down. Instead, he put his own hand over Fred's thin one and squeezed gently.  
  
"It's working," Fred whispered, her voice barely audible above the sound of the engine.  
  
Wesley didn't respond. His eyes were locked on the little light, shining like a tiny beacon in the darkness. Gunn moved over to Fred's other side and the three of them stood together at the rail, watching and hoping.  
  
The boat followed the light for nearly twenty minutes before Wesley called a halt by holding up one hand. The light had stopped and was bobbing up and down just above the surface of the water. "Guide us to Angel," Wesley repeated, and the light dove down into the sea, at first illuminating the water around it, and then quickly fading from sight.  
  
"That's it," said Gunn.  
  
"Have him cut the engine," said Wesley. "Tell him not to start it up again until it's finished." He went over to the bag of supplies he'd brought - the things he and Fred had spent all afternoon and most of the evening gathering. He looked at his watch - it was after 10 pm, and the moon hung in the sky above them like a pale sickle. For a few moments he couldn't identify the feeling fluttering in his stomach - and then he realized it was hope. It had been such a long time since he'd felt it. Here was his chance to set things at least partially right.  
  
Wesley got out the candles, the tiny brazier, the charcoal, the herbs, and the salt. He glanced over at Gunn and Fred to make sure that they knew to stay out of the way, and tried to smile at them when he saw how nervous they looked. His own heart was beating quickly.  
  
Chanting in Latin, Wesley drew a large circle on the deck with the salt, being careful to use a thick line. He set the brazier just outside the circle, lit the charcoal, and dumped a handful of resin onto it. The fragrant smoke rose thickly in the air, the smell transporting Wesley back to his early days with the Council when this type of spell practice was nearly a daily occurence. Without disturbing the line of salt, he then sprinkled the herb mixture inside the circle, in the vague shape of a curled-up person while he repeated, "The site is here, the return is near." He lit two white candles and two black and placed them at the directional points of the circle. The black candles at East and West signified Angel's departure from his current location, and the white candles at North and South would guide him to the circle.  
  
Wesley closed his eyes again, forcing his breathing and heart rate to slow by sheer force of will. This was his one chance. If he failed, they'd have to start all over again from the beginning. He'd never regain this level of energy, and the visions were already starting to eat away at his reserves. But this train of thought was dangerous - he needed to focus solely on the spell, without letting his insecurities take control. He could do this. He would do this.  
  
He took out the last little pouch of herbs, the ones Fred had pounded fine with a mortar and pestle. The incandescent powder he'd mixed in shimmered as he took a small amount out and sprinkled it over the salt in the circle, which took on an unearthly glow. Then he stepped back to the rail and dumped the remainder of the powder and herbs into his palm. He threw it out over the water, dropped the pouch onto the deck. And clapped his hands once, sharply, saying, "Revenio!"  
  
If he'd thought the sudden hit of the visions was powerful, he now knew that it was indeed nothing compared to the power of this spell. A huge non-sound rushed at him, sucking up everything in its path as it came, taking away his hearing. He could feel a sudden warm wetness on his upper lip, and everything seemed to have frozen in time around him - nothing moved, even the rocking of the boat stilled. Then there was an enormous, mind-splitting * _pop_ * and time resumed, and his peripheral vision was going all red and blurry and he just had time to see a huddled shape within the circle before his sight vanished completely and everything went blank. 

  


* * * * *

  


Wesley woke slowly, coming up out of a deep sleep as if drugged. His arms and legs felt leaden and his mouth was unbearably dry. His eyelids were too heavy to open, so he didn't bother. He thought he heard someone moving nearby, and then a familiar voice was saying, "Wes?"  
  
He opened his mouth to say something, although he had no idea what, but nothing came out.  
  
"Hang on," said the voice, and then there was a warm hand on the back of his neck, lifting him, and the edge of a plastic cup was against his lips. He swallowed water gratefully, the slip of it easing his sore throat.  
  
Wesley opened his eyes.  
  
Gunn was standing over him, still holding the cup. "More?"  
  
Wes nodded and took the cup, shifting sideways so he could prop himself up on one arm. Every muscle in his body ached as if he'd pushed himself to his physical limits. He drank some more water. "What happened?" he finally managed to croak.  
  
"You did it," Gunn said. "One minute you were standing there doin' your thing, next minute Angel's lying there on the deck, soaking wet and smellin' all funky and confused as hell. And before we could say anything, you passed out."  
  
Wesley realized he was in his own bed. "How long?"  
  
"Just a day. We called Lorne - didn't know who else to ask - and he said it'd be normal for you to be out at least 24 hours, and it's only been..." Gunn checked his watch. "22. Good show, English."  
  
Wes smiled ruefully. "Right. He... he's all right?" Now that Angel was back, Wesley discovered that he didn't feel right saying his name out loud.  
  
"Angel? He's a vampire. Give him a couple days, unlimited access to human blood - good call on bringing that on the boat, by the way, he was desperate - and he'll be back to his broody old self in no time."  
  
Wesley sat up slowly, bringing his legs down the floor. He felt only a little light-headed. "I'm just going to..." he gestured toward the bathroom.  
  
"You okay?" Gunn hovered at his elbow as he stood up shakily, ready to jump in if Wesley faltered, but he took a few steps and Gunn relaxed. "Yeah... call me if you need anything."  
  
Wesley stood looking into the mirror for some time. There were small amounts of dried blood under his nose and inside his ears, and his eyes were full of broken blood vessels. He felt filthy and exhausted, and now that it was all over he just wanted to forget and move on with his life. Except that wouldn't be permitted, would it? No welcoming arms of the Council, not with these visions in his head rendering him unreliable at best and a danger to himself and others at worst. No, he was stuck here in LA, playing messenger boy to Angel, whether he liked it or not.  
  
He started up the shower and slowly peeled his clothes off, unable to keep from groaning as he stepped under the hot spray. He let the water pound against his shoulders, and then rotated slowly so that it beat his face, using his fingers to scrub away the dried blood as best he could.  
  
He'd actually done it. Now that it was over, he was able to admit to himself how full of doubt he'd actually been - he hadn't thought himself capable of pulling off that spell. It was meant for people with far more experience than he, and he was lucky that he hadn't short circuited his brain and dropped dead of an aneurysm right there on the deck. Although of course, that could probably happen at any time because of the visions, so he needn't get too excited about his continued existence.  
  
When the water had changed from hot to warm, Wesley got out and dried himself off. With the towel wrapped around his waist, he went back into the bedroom and dug around for some clean clothes - grabbed the first pair of slacks and t-shirt he saw \- and got dressed.  
  
Gunn was in the living room, sitting on the couch. When Wesley came in, he jumped to his feet and gestured that Wes should sit down in the seat he had just vacated. "Can I get you anything? Food? You must be hungry..."  
  
"Gunn," Wesley said. "I appreciate your staying long enough to make sure I was all right. And I'm fine, so... thank you."  
  
Gunn knew a dismissal when he heard one, but his face showed his confusion plainly. "But... I'm not just gonna leave you here, Wesley."  
  
"Why not? I was doing perfectly well on my own until these visions started. Now Angel's back, and you can all continue on as things were before."  
  
"Without Cordy," said Gunn flatly.  
  
"Yes," Wesley admitted. "I assume Angel knows she's... gone?"  
  
"Yeah, I told him. Told him everything. He told me some stuff, too. Like that Connor was the one who locked him in that box and threw him into the ocean."  
  
Wesley did sit down. "But we thought..."  
  
"Yeah," said Gunn. "We thought it was those damned lawyers. But it wasn't - it was Connor, and Holtz's woman, Justine."  
  
"Oh," said Wesley. He wasn't sure what else to say. "Well, as I said... thank you for making sure I was all right."  
  
Gunn moved over and sat down on the other end of the couch. "Uh-uh."  
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
" _No,_ " said Gunn. "I'm not leaving until we get this straightened out."  
  
"Get what straightened out?"  
  
"This. Whatever's got you all Mr-Stuffy-British-Guy on me all of a sudden. I thought things between us were... okay."  
  
"Yes, well, that was before Angel..."  
  
"Before Angel came back?" asked Gunn. "Yeah. Before you _brought_ him back, Wesley. You think me and Fred would've gotten him back without you?"  
  
"That's really not the point," said Wesley.  
  
"Not the point?" Gunn said. "No, I'll tell you what the fuckin' point is, Wes. You were lying there on that boat bleeding out your _eyes._ "  
  
Wesley blinked.  
  
"That's right," continued Gunn when Wes continued to sit there without speaking. "Do you know what it's like watching somebody... watching a _friend_... lying there with blood coming outta his eyes and nose and ears?"  
  
"I wasn't sure we were friends," Wesley said quietly.  
  
"What? After the past coupla weeks, with all of us practically livin' at the hotel, working night and day to find out where Angel was and how to get him back? What'd you think we were?"  
  
"I thought we were... working together toward a common goal. You'd get Angel back, I'd get relief from the visions..."  
  
"So we... _you_ get him back, and that's it? You're out of the picture again?"  
  
Wesley dug the finger of his right hand into his thigh muscle. "I wasn't the one who removed myself from the picture last time, Gunn. Angel did that first, and then you and Fred went right along with him. You chose your side months ago."  
  
"Fred didn't want you to get _hurt._ "  
  
"What about you, then?"  
  
Gunn sighed and rocked his weight forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I was pissed off. _I_ thought we were friends \- didn't understand why you couldn't come to me and tell me what was goin' down."  
  
"I was wrong," Wesley said. "I should have told you. If I had, maybe things wouldn't have played out the way that they did."  
  
"But I... wait a minute," said Gunn. "Did you just say that you were wrong?"  
  
"Don't get used to it."  
  
Gunn looked at Wesley for a long moment. "You told me not to come back," he said. "After Fred..."  
  
"You weren't ready to hear what I had to say. I couldn't bear it... the idea of trying to explain it to someone who was so angry with me."  
  
"You said you loved us. Trusted us."  
  
"Yes, I did."  
  
"Did what? Say it? Or d'you mean you don't love and trust us any more?"  
  
Wesley sighed. "I won't... a couple of weeks back, you said that there was a lot of water under the bridge. You were right."  
  
"I also said we could get past it. I was right about that, too."  
  
"Maybe you were."  
  
Gunn looked stunned. "You're admitting that you were wrong, and that I was right? During the same conversation?"  
  
"Technically, the conversation in which you were _possibly_ right took place weeks ago. And as I said, don't get used to it."  
  
Gunn smiled, a genuine one that crinkled up his eyes. "You kiddin'? I think we need to have a fuckin' _parade._ "  
  
Wesley smiled back at him. "So..." he said finally.  
  
"So. Can I get you something to eat?"  
  
"Yes, please. I'm starving."

* * * * *

  


The same night, at the Hyperion:  
  
"Angel? We're just going out for a little while... we'll be back soon." Fred glanced down at the floor, and then back up at Angel, without meeting his eyes.  
  
"Where you going?"  
  
"Umm... We just need to drop something off... I mean... an errand. We just need to do an... errand."  
  
"You taking those boxes of stuff back to Wes's place?"  
  
Fred froze, barely breathing. Angel could see the pulse at her throat fluttering like a bird with a broken wing. Finally, she nodded. "That's the first time you've... said his name. In a long time, I mean. Not that you should - "  
  
"Fred," he said gently. "It's okay."  
  
"Okay, then. Good." She turned to go and he held out a hand as if to stop her, although he was too far away and wouldn't have touched her when she was this jumpy.  
  
"Umm... can you...?"  
  
Fred didn't turn around, but she stopped and listened. "What?"  
  
"Never mind."

* * * * *

  


Two weeks later:  
  
Wesley had had two visions since Angel had been rescued. Both times he had called Gunn's cell phone, relayed the information, and trusted that things would be taken care of. Gunn had called him some time later, in both cases, to report what had happened and assure him that the situation had been resolved. Now that the visions were being dealt with in a timely manner, the headaches he suffered in the aftermath of the resolutions didn't seem to be worsening. They were bad, but not completely unbearable. He'd called his doctor and reported the typical symptoms of a migraine headache, and been given an ergot-based prescription to handle the problem. The pills worked passably - enough so that he was able to get through the couple of days after the vision.  
  
Fred and Gunn were solicitous, if not overly so - they called often, and had been over to visit on at least six occasions, separately and together. Even Lorne had phoned - and although it had been awkward at first, Wesley was relieved when Lorne had assured him that he understood why Wesley had attacked him. Even though the demon wasn't one of his closest friends, it was reassuring to know that he didn't blame Wesley. He knew that Wes had only been trying to protect Connor.  
  
Wesley was just ordering himself a quick takeaway from the Indian restaurant down the street when the next vision hit him like a runaway truck. One moment he was talking on the phone, and the next he was on the floor, blood pouring from his nose - a leftover side effect of the translocation spell - and his cheek on the carpet. There was a man... a large demon the colour of thick tar, moving slowly and viscously... the man screaming as the liquid tar flowed over him, engulfing his chest and then his face... the number 8, the rear door of a pharmacy, West Alameda.  
  
Wesley groaned and pushed himself up off of the cheap shag that carpeted his flat. He'd give any amount of money to be spared this, but he didn't think that the PTB were interested in his bank account, sparse as it was.  
  
In a daze, he managed to dial Gunn's number, but there was no answer and when Gunn's voice mail picked up, he hung up without leaving a message. He knew instinctively that if Gunn didn't get the message immediately, it would be too late. He rang the hotel, hoping that Fred or Gunn would be there.  
  
Angel answered the phone. "Yeah?"  
  
Wesley paused, and then hung up without saying anything. While he was still cursing himself for acting like a fool, the phone under his hand rang. "Hello?"  
  
"Wesley." Angel's voice.  
  
"Angel," said Wesley, not knowing what to say or how to redeem himself with a sentence.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"A demon," Wesley managed. "I think it might be a Danogg. It's going to attack a man - he's wearing a suit \- West Alameda, behind a pharmacy, the number 8. That's all I got..."  
  
"Right," said Angel. "I'm on it." And hung up the phone without another word.  
  
Wesley went to the bathroom, sat down on the edge of the tub, and pressed a wad of tissue to his nose. The trash can was full of similar wads of paper, stained with his blood. He was beginning to wonder if the nosebleeds would ever cease, although he knew that they were worth it on some level.  
  
An hour later he was still sitting on the edge of the tub and the bleeding was finally slowing. He was feeling somewhat light-headed again - which was beginning to seem normal - when the phone rang. He managed to stagger to the living room to pick it up.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Wesley. It's Angel." As if he wouldn't know who it was. As if this voice weren't as familiar to him as his own.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I just... I wanted to let you know. I took care of it \- you were right, it _was_ a Danogg."  
  
"Oh... good," said Wesley faintly, as the room spun lazily around him and he leaned toward the couch cushion with his head, which was begging for support. "I'm glad you..." And that was the last thing he remembered saying.  
  
"Wesley? Wes?" Someone was calling him, and he just didn't have the energy to answer. It was so much easier to drift, with words washing over him like gentle waves.  
  
"Wesley!" The voice was becoming more insistent, and he reluctantly allowed himself to be drawn upward, toward the surface.  
  
His eyes opened slowly, and when he saw Angel looming over him he sucked in a breath of surprise despite himself and jerked away from the hands gripping his upper arms.  
  
Angel drew back, letting go of him in reaction to his... reaction. "You okay?"  
  
"I'm fine," he managed to get out. "What are you...?"  
  
"You passed out when we were on the phone," Angel said. "I couldn't just let you... And - you didn't rescind the invitation."  
  
"Oh," said Wesley. "No. I'm fine. Please..."  
  
Angel drew further away from him. "You want me to go?"  
  
"Yes. I mean, no, I..." The room tilted sideways and Wesley closed his eyes.  
  
He was brought to the surface again by Angel's repeated questioning. "Wesley? C'mon, Wes..."  
  
"Angel. Just go."  
  
"You've lost blood," Angel said flatly. "It's been happening for a while. What's going on?"  
  
"It's the spell," Wesley said wearily, not having the energy to deny what Angel could obviously sense. "More than I could handle... should have known better. Keep bleeding..."  
  
"Shit," said Angel.  
  
"It should stop eventually." Wesley opened his eyes again. "What do you want?"  
  
"Wes?" Angel said uncertainly.  
  
"What do you _want,_ Angel?"  
  
"I... I don't want anything, Wesley. Well... I want to help. Is there - is there something I can do to help?"  
  
"No," said Wesley, closing his eyes again. "Just go away."  
  
"You're sick," said Angel. "What can I do?"  
  
Wesley only managed to keep from laughing because it would have taken so much effort. "There's nothing you can do, Angel. You don't owe me anything."  
  
"But you're... I mean, all of this..."  
  
Wesley hauled himself to a sitting position and rubbed his fingers against his forehead. "What? I'm sick now because of you?"  
  
"Well... yeah."  
  
"Don't flatter yourself, Angel. I made the decision to take Connor. I made the decision to do the spell to get you back. They were _my_ decisions, not yours. You're not responsible."  
  
"But it..."  
  
"Angel." Wesley spoke firmly, hoping for resolution. "You are _not responsible._ Go home."  
  
"I don't... I can't do that," Angel said.  
  
"Well, then, go into the other room and stop looking at me."  
  
Angel stood up and disappeared, but in a minute or so he was back, holding a glass of juice out to Wesley. "You should... you gotta replace fluids, you know?"  
  
Wesley took the glass. The juice was cold and tasted, quite possibly, better than anything had in his life. He silently thanked Gunn and Fred for having stocked his kitchen for him. He looked up. Angel was still standing there, shifting his weight slightly from foot to foot.  
  
Wesley sighed. "Angel, if you're not going to leave, then sit down."  
  
"Umm... okay. Right." Angel went over to a chair and perched himself on it, somehow managing to look no more relaxed than he had standing.  
  
Wesley set the empty glass down on the coffee table and swung his feet back up onto the couch, lying back with one arm thrown over his eyes. He was so very tired. His brain didn't seem to be working anymore - instead he found himself focused on only one sound at a time. The faint noise of cars going by on the street outside. His own breathing, gradually slowing. Angel shifting in his chair. The refrigerator humming in the kitchen. He realized that he was falling asleep, just drifting off with Angel sitting only a few feet away. He had time for one more thought - he'd never gotten his dinner - before he slipped under.  
  


* * * * *

  
  
When he woke this time the sun was high overhead and he was alone in the apartment. For a few moments he wasn't sure if he'd fallen asleep with Angel so close by simply because he'd been so tired, or if it meant something more. That he trusted Angel? It wasn't the sort of situation that required trust, in any case - even awake and healthy, Wesley posed little challenge to Angel, should the vampire get it into his head to attack him.  
  
There was a piece of paper on the coffee table with Angel's handwriting on it. Wesley picked it up.  
  
 _I stuck around until just before sunrise, but I figured you wouldn't want to spend the whole day with me trapped in your apartment so I left while the leaving was still good. Take care of yourself. - Angel_  
  
Angel was feeling guilty, that was Wesley's guess. He wondered how Angel felt about Cordelia's departure. For that matter, he wondered how Angel was feeling about Connor - the tiny baby that Wesley had stolen from him, sent to live in a demon dimension with a madman. Who had returned with a plan to damn his father to an eternity of loneliness at the bottom of the sea. A plan that Wesley had admittedly foiled, but even still, it wasn't impossible to imagine how Angel was dealing with recent events.  
  
Wesley had some tea and toast and thought about Connor. He took a shower and thought about Connor. Where had the boy gone? What would have been on his mind after he and Justine threw Angel into the ocean? What had happened to him in Quortoth that had convinced him that Angel deserved such treatment? When he had seen the two in that bar, the night Lilah had convinced him to meet her, they had seemed to be working together.  
  
Wesley took a walk and thought about Lilah. She hadn't shown up again since that night he'd thrown her out of his flat, but he wasn't naive enough to think that that meant she'd given up. Chances were she was off developing her next plan of attack. What might that be? He could only begin to imagine. He wished he had the file with all of the notes he'd taken about their interactions with Wolfram and Hart. Could the firm have seduced \- all right, bad choice of words, but still - Connor in some manner? And if they had, would they have found a place for him somewhere?  
  
The more he thought about it, the more he wanted that file. He waved down a cab and headed for the hotel. It was still mid-afternoon, and chances were good he wouldn't run into Angel if he only stopped in for a few moments. In any case, it didn't seem that he ran the risk of attempted suffocation again.  
  
The hotel was quiet, the office empty, Gunn and Fred obviously out. He wondered if they were still keeping regular hours - it hadn't occured to him to ask. He slipped in to the office, found the file in a matter of seconds, and perched on the edge of the desk for just a moment while he flipped through, looking for the more recent section. He needn't take the whole file \- at least the first half of it was old enough to be of little use.  
  
"Fred? I..." Angel paused awkwardly in the doorway when he saw who was actually in the office. "Wesley."  
  
Wesley felt caught where he didn't belong. "Angel," he said warily.  
  
"What... um, what's up?"  
  
He relaxed a bit. "I came in to... pick up a file. I thought I might find it helpful, and I didn't think anyone would be needing it..."  
  
Angel held up one hand. "Wes. It's fine. You need it? Take it."  
  
"Yes, I wanted to..." He stopped. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "It wasn't my intention to sneak in like this. I didn't think about how it would look."  
  
"It's fine," Angel repeated. "Heck, you were the one who _made_ most of those files. Well, half of them, anyway. You're entitled to use them."  
  
"Thank you." Wesley looked down at the file in his lap, and then at the floor. Anywhere but at Angel, who was blocking his exit - albeit unthinkingly - and watching him a little too intently.  
  
"No, I should - I should be the one. Thanking you, I mean. I'd still be down there in that box if it weren't for you."  
  
Wesley didn't know how to respond to this. If he hadn't stolen Connor, then Holtz wouldn't have taken Connor to Quortoth. Connor wouldn't have ended up hating Angel, and Angel wouldn't have ended up at the bottom of the Pacific. The steps from here to there were perfectly clear. No one, not even Angel in his most oblivious moment, could have failed to see them, laid out like a shining path from beginning to end.  
  
"Don't thank me," Wesley said finally. He wanted to leave, but standing up and approaching the door meant approaching Angel, and he didn't think he could do that. He felt a trickle on his upper lip and raised the back of his hand to his face. Pulled it away and saw the blood, which was no surprise. "Damn," he muttered, and stood up to take a handkerchief from his pocket.  
  
Wesley glanced up at Angel, and Angel looked... concerned.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
Holding the white cloth to his nose, Wesley nodded. "It's not bad," he said.  
  
"How can you tell?"  
  
"Because I've had enough of them to know," Wesley said irritably. "And because the bad ones are after the visions, for the most part." He took a few steps to the nearest chair and sat down. "Am I supposed to tilt my head back? Or is it forward?"  
  
"Umm... back. I think." Angel moved out of the doorway and into the room. "Can I - ?"  
  
"What?" Wesley's voice was muffled.  
  
"Can I ask you - I mean, about the visions. When Cordelia gave them to you - did she say anything? About what happened?"  
  
Wesley took the handkerchief away from his nose and looked at it. The bleeding was already slowing. "You mean about what happened to her?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Not in great detail. She said that the Powers That Be needed her, and that she felt obliged to go. She said something about leaving you in the lurch - that she was supposed to meet you?"  
  
"Yeah, that's why I was out at the beach when Connor..." Angel trailed off. "For a while there I thought something had happened to her. I thought maybe Connor had done something to - but then, Gunn told me that you saw her."  
  
Wesley hesitated. Was there any point in making Angel feel worse by telling him? _Would_ telling him make him feel worse? "She wanted me to..."  
  
"What?"  
  
"She asked me to give you a message. To tell you that she loves you."  
  
Angel looked confused, and then pained, as recognition slowly dawned. "Oh," he said weakly.  
  
"I'm sorry. Perhaps I shouldn't have said anything. But she was very... insistent."  
  
"Yeah, I'll bet," said Angel, absently. "That's our Cordy for you."  
  
Wesley stood up and swiped at his nose a few times, doing his best to remove any traces of blood from his face. "It's hard to believe she's gone."  
  
Angel nodded. He looked at Wesley critically, came a few steps closer, and held out his hand. Gestured with the other one to Wesley's lip. "You've still got..."  
  
Slowly, Wesley handed him the bloodstained square of fabric and waited as Angel wiped the last of the blood from his upper lip. He was so still that he almost forgot to breathe. Angel paused, holding the handkerchief, and tipped Wesley's head up and away from him with one finger on his chin.  
  
"Quite a scar," he said softly. He leaned in for a closer look, so close that Wesley's skin tingled, and for just an instant Wesley wondered if Angel was going to kiss him. Or bite him.  
  
Both of these thoughts startled him, and he twitched away from Angel before any more rational ones could make themselves known.  
  
Angel took a step back, keeping his hands at his sides so as to seem less threatening.  
  
"I'm sorry," said Wesley. "I'm not - I don't mean to be - "  
  
Angel stood very still. "It's okay," he said calmly. "Natural reaction. Nothing to worry about." He paused. " _I'm_ sorry."  
  
Wesley forced himself to reach out and take the handkerchief back from Angel. He stuffed it into his pocket and picked the file up off the desk. "You're sure you don't mind if I \- ?"  
  
Angel waved a hand at him. "No. Take it." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "Unless you wanted to..."  
  
Wesley waited.  
  
"I mean, you could stay here and read it. If you wanted."  
  
Wesley smiled, just a little. The movement stretched his facial muscles in a way that felt unfamiliar. "Well. Thank you, but I think I'll just - take it with me. If you're sure you don't mind."  
  
Angel deliberately moved to the right, clearing a path to the doorway. "Okay. So... see you around."  
  
And when would that be, exactly? But Wesley nodded and left. He had to steel himself not to glance back as he went out the front door. 

* * * * *

  


Later that night:  
  
Fred grinned as she handed Gunn some chopsticks.  
  
"You don't want 'em?" he asked.  
  
"I think I'll stick with the forking," she said seriously. "It's enough of a challenge. I won't be ready for chopsticks for... oh, at least another year."  
  
Wesley passed the fried rice across the kitchen table to Fred. "I went by the office this afternoon," he said, going for casual, and then suspecting that he'd hit 'painfully obvious' instead.  
  
"You - you did?" Fred almost choked on her mouthful of cashews and chicken.  
  
"You need something, you're supposed to _call_ me," said Gunn. "Just because you and Angel had one... conversation... that didn't involve him screaming about killing you, doesn't mean everything's cool between you."  
  
"Two conversations," said Wesley. "We talked again today. Things were... awkward. Uncomfortable. But not impossibly so."  
  
"Why did you go to the office anyway?" asked Fred.  
  
"To get the file on Wolfram and Hart. I wanted to go over it, see if I could get a feel for what Lilah and the others might be up to. I was thinking that they might have Connor - perhaps they were involved somehow in what he and Justine did to Angel."  
  
"You _know_ what Lilah's been up to," said Gunn.  
  
"I hardly think a couple of evenings spent with me could be considered a full time job from her perspective. I was just a diversion - something interesting, to give her something extra to do."  
  
"Yeah, something to _do,_ " said Gunn darkly, and Wesley felt his cheeks flush.  
  
"I don't know what Connor would want with those lawyers," Fred said.  
  
"Probably nothing," said Wesley. "I'm more concerned about what they might want with _him._ "  
  
"You don't think Lilah would have said anything to you about it? If they had him?" asked Gunn.  
  
"If Wolfram and Hart were in on the situation, then I'd imagine she'd have been waiting for _me_ to say something. If I didn't know, she'd have preferred not to tell me."  
  
"He could be anywhere," said Fred. "Maybe he and Justine went to... Barbados. Or Hawaii. Or Texas - you don't think they went to Texas, do you?"  
  
"No, Fred, I'm sure they didn't go to Texas." Wesley reached over to pat her hand reassuringly.  
  
"So what do you think this file's gonna tell you about what they're up to?" Gunn got up to take another beer from Wesley's fridge.  
  
"Quite possibly nothing," Wesley admitted. "I just... I suppose I feel the need to do something. Sitting around waiting for the next vision leaves a bit to be desired."  
  
After Fred and Gunn had gone home for the evening, Wesley sat up late with the file. He didn't know what he was looking for, and even if he had he wouldn't have expected to find it. But it _did_ feel good to do something productive, or at least something that he could pretend might be productive. He wondered how Angel felt about Connor, considering what the boy had done. Was he angry? Or did he refuse to blame him because Connor had grown up under such terrible conditions?  
  
It was possible that Wolfram and Hart hadn't known that Angel was missing, but he thought it unlikely. Did they know that he was back? Wesley hadn't seen or heard from Lilah in more than five weeks. That could mean that she knew that he and the rest of the Angel Investigations team were back in contact again. They must know that Cordelia was gone.  
  
Gunn had told him about the attack on Connor and Angel at the drive-in theatre. Wolfram and Hart could have been after Angel \- or they could have been after the boy. Wesley suspected the latter. Whatever reasons they might have to be interested in acquiring Connor were most likely unpleasant at best. Wesley wondered if there was a way to coax some information out of Lilah. He'd have to consider it; as unpleasant as it was to spend time with the woman, she _might_ let something slip, something useful. He glanced at the clock - it was after eleven, but he hadn't talked with Lilah for weeks, and there was no time like the present.  
  
A quick search of the flat unearthed the business card she'd left with him, office number and cell phone number and, written on the back in her terse handwriting, home number. He considered for a moment and then dialed.  
  
The phone rang four times and then there was the click of the receiver being picked up. "Yes?" Lilah said shortly.  
  
"It's Wesley."  
  
A pause, during which Wesley could imagine her attempting not to look surprised. Then she said, "Well. I heard that you're back in the fold - a little bird saw you going into the Hyperion."  
  
He thought quickly. Had she been keeping an eye on _him,_ or just the hotel? It wouldn't do to let her know she was correct. "Ah. No, actually I went in to... acquire some files."  
  
"Wesley, Wesley... I'm impressed. Stealing from your former employer. I knew you had it in you."  
  
"So happy I could live up to your expectations," he said, trying to force some bitterness into his tone.  
  
"And to what do I owe the pleasure of your call?" Lilah sounded smug, confident. Wesley wanted to slap her.  
  
"I've been thinking..." He let his voice trail off, hoping that she might take the bait.  
  
"Mmm... glad you've decided to stop wasting that big brain of yours."  
  
He had to tread carefully. He didn't think he was capable of being subtle enough to slide under her radar undetected, so probably best to just come out with it and see whether she was as clever as she thought she was. "I was thinking about the boy."  
  
"Angel Jr.?"  
  
"Yes. I was thinking what a powerful tool he could be... in the right hands."  
  
"And whose hands would those be, exactly?"  
  
"Mine. Yours. Wolfram and Hart's."  
  
"You surprise me, Wesley. Are you finally seeing the lure of the dark side?"  
  
Wesley closed his eyes. She had no idea how close he had been, only a few weeks ago, to letting her seduction of him go much further than his body. "Let's just say I'm considering my options. And as time goes on, the thought of... how did you put it? Slaughter?... becomes a bit more attractive."  
  
She laughed, and he sensed it was genuine. "I hoped you'd come around sooner or later, Wesley. And I don't just mean that figuratively..."  
  
Wesley didn't want to see her, but on the other hand, he doubted whether he could manage to get any real information from her unless he got her into a more intimate situation. He would have to convince her that he was seriously considering partnering with Wolfram and Hart. He took a deep breath. "I was wondering if you might like to have a drink. Tomorrow night?"

* * * * *

  


They met at the same bar they'd gone to the night they'd seen Angel and Connor fighting off the hoard of vampires. Although the music was loud and the people were boisterous, Wesley knew that after that night he'd always consider a normal one "quiet." Not that he intended to start spending a lot of time here.  
  
He'd made an effort to be late, despite his anxiousness to get the encounter over with, so Lilah was already there with a drink in her hand when he arrived. Wesley ordered a scotch and reminded himself to sip it slowly, as letting his facade slip was not part of the evening's plans.  
  
"I wondered if you'd show," said Lilah.  
  
"I _was_ the one who called you," Wesley replied.  
  
"Doesn't mean anything." She shrugged eloquently, one finger tracing with the rim of her glass. "You could have been playing with me."  
  
Wesley took a sip of his drink, a very small sip. "Well, here I am."  
  
"Yes, here we both are. What can I do for you? And what do you intend to do for me?"  
  
"As I said on the phone, I'd been thinking about the boy. Do you recall seeing him fighting, here? And how quick he was? He's going to be an asset to someone, and I thought it might as well be me. Or even... us."  
  
"There is no _us,_ Wesley. There's Wolfram and Hart, and there's me. Unless you're thinking about working for the firm or trying to seduce me away from them, you're all alone." She toyed with the rim of her glass some more. "I hear little miss Vision Girl has disappeared."  
  
Wesley did his best to look surprised. "Cordelia? Really. I had no idea."  
  
"Wesley. Don't underestimate me. You knew."  
  
"I assure you, I didn't."  
  
Lilah's eyes searched his, and he suspected that he was being all too transparent. "It doesn't matter," she said. "Either way, she's gone - just up and vanished. For a little while we thought Angel'd disappeared too - thought maybe the two of them had gone off somewhere together - but no, he's still around." Lilah looked bored, and Wesley knew it wasn't affected - she didn't think she was sharing anything important. Mildly interesting, perhaps, but in the grand scheme of things, nothing earth-shattering.  
  
"Hmm. And the boy?"  
  
"We haven't been able to locate him. Shame, really. Linwood was looking forward to seeing what makes that boy tick."  
  
"I'm sure." Wesley didn't know how to feel about this. They didn't have Connor, he was sure of it. There must be reasons why she was willing to tell him so - did she think he might help them find the boy? Or was his knowing that they wanted Connor but couldn't find him a piece of some bigger picture? "I'd be rather interested in that myself."  
  
"I'm sure you would be," said Lilah, sliding her hand across the bar toward his.  
  
Nuclear explosion time again, at the worst possible moment. Wesley felt Lilah's fingers brush against the back of his hand just before the violent light smashed into him. Then he didn't feel anything but the blinding pain in his head, ricocheting around and bouncing off the inside of his skull like a steel ball in a pinball machine. Two young women, dressed in revealing clothing... in a parking lot... the stomach-churning stench of flesh being seared... the sound of screaming, two different voices, high-pitched and echoing. A neon sign that blinked - the flashes of it slicing into his eyes - "Horizon." A dark alley, a tall hulking demon dragging a body behind it, a body that scraped along the concrete leaving chunks of skin and blood in its wake.  
  
Wesley drew in a shuddering breath and pushed his face up off of the floor. He looked up and Lilah was standing nearby, staring at him in a mix of horror and disgust.  
  
"Damn," he said distinctly. He staggered to his feet and leaned against the bar.  
  
"You okay, buddy?" asked the bartender, his face concerned and a little bit afraid. "You need an ambulance or something?"  
  
"No," said Wesley, waving his hand wearily in dismissal. "Migraine. They come on very suddenly." He didn't know what it was about labeling his apparent seizures 'migraines' that people found so acceptable - he was confident that if he'd said 'epilepsy', in no matter how casual a tone, the ambulance would be pulling up outside within minutes. Well, twenty minutes. This being LA.  
  
Lilah hadn't moved. She was still staring at him, and even as he watched her, he could see the sudden *click* like a shutter behind her eyes, the moment when comprehension dawned and she _knew._  
  
"Vision Girl gave them to you when she left," she said, almost breathlessly. "I _knew_ that you knew she was gone. What the hell is going on?"  
  
"Yes, thank you for your help," Wesley managed, as he dug into his pocket for a bottle of pills and his handkerchief. His nose was barely dripping blood this time. "So nice to know that when the chips are down, you're willing to stand around and watch me scrape myself off the floor." He took two tablets with a sip of his scotch and sighed.  
  
"How did she do it? Can you give them to someone else?"  
  
"Go away, Lilah." He was tired of it all, tired of the game playing. He knew that this episode signified the end of any confidences she might be willing to share with him. She knew he had the visions. She was relatively sure that he was back in Angel's good graces, or at the very least that he was spending time with Gunn and Fred again. It was clear to him that any hopes she'd had of bringing him in to Wolfram and Hart were dashed, and yet she still thought she saw something in him, something that made her look at him as if he were a particularly valuable commodity.  
  
He needed to call Gunn. He didn't have his phone on him, so he'd need a pay phone. Front entrance? Near the bathrooms? He hadn't noticed on the way in.  
  
She was still standing there. "Lilah? Have you a phone?"  
  
"What? Yes..."  
  
"Give it to me."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Give me your phone," he said, slowly and distinctly.  
  
Silent for once - thank god - she took the phone out of her purse and handed it to him.  
  
He took it without a word to her and went out the front door of the bar, leaning against the wall to steady himself as he dialed the familiar number. Gunn's phone rang twice before being picked up.  
  
"Yeah?" The sound of Gunn's voice sent a wave of relief over Wesley.  
  
"Gunn, it's me. Two girls, outside of a place called Horizon, in the parking lot. I think it's a nightclub. Some kind of demon \- big, but humanoid - it's going to burn them."  
  
"Okay, man, take it easy," said Gunn. Wesley could hear him turn his head away from the phone as he spoke next. "Angel - get the yellow pages - place called Horizon. Might be a nightclub." There was a pause, during which Wesley listened to Gunn's breathing and the soft sound of Fred's voice saying something he couldn't quite make out. "Where are you, Wes?"  
  
"East side. Bar..." He couldn't remember the name, so he backed away from the wall and far enough into the street that he could see the sign. "Platinum Moon." He moved back to the wall for support and blotted his nose again, but the bleeding seemed to have stopped.  
  
It sounded as if Gunn was pressing the mouthpiece of the phone to his cheek - Wesley could hear the conversation, but it was muted. Then Gunn's voice was back, soothing him like a caress. "We're gonna swing by and pick you up."  
  
Wesley felt his jaw tighten. He didn't want Lilah to see him with the rest of them, even if she knew. "Not here," he said. He looked around. "There's a Starbucks on the corner. I'll be out front."  
  
He went back in to the bar, where his head throbbed in time to the music, and walked up to Lilah. He held the phone out to her, and when she didn't take it he put it on the bar next to her hand and turned away.  
  
"Wesley," she said. "Wesley."  
  
He didn't look back.

  


* * * * *

  
  
Ten minutes later Wesley had given up on standing and was sitting down against the door of the closed Starbucks, letting his head rest on the cool glass and hoping that the damned migraine medication would start to do _something_ soon. He hadn't quite decided why the medication seemed so ineffective - was it targetting the wrong part of his brain? Or was it just insufficient in quantity? He'd chanced taking an extra tablet on a couple of occasions with no apparent harm, and it did seem to have helped the pain, but he worried about overdosing.  
  
He saw Angel's car coming from a block away and struggled to get his feet under him as it pulled up to the curb. Gunn, in the passenger seat, opened the door for him and then hopped over into the back to sit with Fred. Wesley looked at him questioningly, but Gunn nodded so he got into the front seat and shut the door. "Horizon?" he asked.  
  
Angel gestured with his chin, both hands busy on the wheel. "Ten minutes east - we had to pass right by here on the way. You know what it is?"  
  
Wesley understood that he was asking about the demon. He shook his head mutely. He felt Fred's small hand touch his shoulder gently, comfortingly. It made him feel better. He'd feel even _better_ if the goddamned medication would kick in.  
  
Gunn leaned forward so that he could talk to Wesley without raising his voice. "You okay?"  
  
Wesley turned his head, his cheek close enough to Gunn that he could feel the other man's warm breath. He nodded, not wanting to speak if it was a lie. Any time now, drugs. He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and pressed his thumbs against his temples, hard. Sometimes that helped. He concentrated on taking deep, measured breaths, in and out very slowly through his nose. Sometimes that helped, as well.  
  
When they pulled into the parking lot several minutes later, Angel and Gunn jumped out. Wesley started to open the passenger door.  
  
"No," Angel said sharply. "Stay here and keep an eye on Fred."  
  
Wesley appreciated the sentiment, and since the reality was he wouldn't be anything but a liability in a fight just now, he stayed put. Fred slid over so that she was directly behind him, pulled him back so that his head was leaning against the seat, and began to massage his temples, occasionally sliding her fingers down to rub at his scalp.  
  
"Does that help at all?" she asked.  
  
"Yes," he said, very quietly.  
  
"Don't worry. They'll be fine. I'm sure they'll be back any minute now."  
  
Instead, it was almost twenty minutes before Gunn and Angel returned, but when they did Gunn was grinning despite the scorched smell that lingered around him.  
  
"Killed it," he said, before either of them could ask the question. "Standard slice and dice." Gunn threw his axe into the trunk and held his hand out to take Angel's sword from him as well. The two men climbed into the car and Angel turned the key in the ignition.  
  
"Wes? Can we... do you want us to take you home?" Angel was looking at him, and his eyes were full of concern. Again.  
  
Wesley would have given a million dollars to be at home in his bed, with all the lights out and a pillow over his head to dull the headache that had faded only slightly in the past forty minutes. He closed his eyes again as the car started to move away. He was aware that he hadn't answered Angel's question, and then his attention shifted to the back seat, where Gunn was quietly describing the fight with the demon to Fred.  
  
Then with a snap he was awake again, his heart pounding in his chest. They were in front of his apartment building, Angel had just shut off the car, and the back seat was empty.  
  
Tentatively, Angel reached out a hand and touched Wesley's shoulder. "Easy."  
  
Wesley took a few deep breaths. "I must have been... I didn't realize... sorry."  
  
"For falling asleep?" The corner of Angel's mouth quirked up. "Fred thought you probably needed it, so I dropped her and Gunn off first. Been driving around for a little while. Thought you might get a crick in your neck from sleeping like that, though, so... here we are."  
  
"Right. Well, thank you for the lift."  
  
"No problem. Walk you in?"  
  
"Err... all right." As they got out of the car Wesley's mind raced over his earlier conversation with Lilah.  
  
When they reached his door, Wesley unlocked it and took a step inside. He threw a glance over his shoulder at Angel and asked, hesitantly, "Come in?"  
  
Angel followed him in and watched as Wesley locked the door behind them.  
  
"I was hoping... we might talk," said Wesley.  
  
"Okay," said Angel. "What about?"  
  
Wesley didn't want to say 'Connor.' He didn't think he could. But he could say, "Lilah."  
  
"What about her?"  
  
"I... I met with her tonight. I was hoping she might be able to answer some questions I had, about..." Connor. He could dance around, inelegantly, for as long as he cared to, but it all came back to this. And yet he found that he wasn't able to say it. He'd have to change tacks.  
  
"You wouldn't have killed me," Wesley said.  
  
"I - huh?"  
  
Wesley waited. "In the hospital," he said finally.  
  
Angel looked at him steadily. His eyes were dark, and Wesley thought he had never looked more unreachable.  
  
"You're a vampire," said Wesley, keeping his tone as even as possible. "You could kill any human you wanted and barely exert yourself. Especially one who was... lying helpless, in a hospital bed. If you'd really wanted to kill me, you could have done it in a second. You wouldn't have mucked about with pillows - you'd have snapped my neck, or ripped my throat out. No one could have stopped you. Not Gunn and Fred, not the hospital staff." He winced as his voice dropped down into the gravelly tone that signified he was speaking too much. "You wanted to punish me. You wanted me to know, unequivocally, how angry you were."  
  
The expression on Angel's face didn't change. "You've thought about this a lot."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Yeah." Angel moved over to the nearest chair and sat down. "You're right. I think. I mean, at the time I _wanted_ to kill you. But you're right - I didn't - and you're right - I could have. You're just all kinds of right, aren't you." He was looking at the floor, and bitterness made his voice flat.  
  
"Angel, I - "  
  
"Wesley, just _shut up._ Just - just give me a minute here, okay?  
  
Wesley froze. Stopped speaking, stopped moving. Waited. Watched.  
  
"I didn't want you dead," said Angel, and now he looked angry. "You're right about that, too. I wanted - I wanted you to feel how it felt to be me. To be walking around and know that you were _already_ dead. I wanted to make sure there was nothing left for you. Because that's how I felt, when Con - " He broke off, apparently as unable as Wesley was to say the boy's name.  
  
The silence in the room filled Wesley up with despair. "Angel. I wish -"  
  
"Shut up!" Angel flew up out of the chair toward Wesley, grabbing him by the shirt front and shaking him. "Christ, don't you ever listen to anything..." He stopped himself and loosened his grip quickly but not completely, making sure Wesley had his feet under him. The anger had fled from his face \- all that remained was grief and misery. "Fuck. I'm sorry, Wesley."  
  
"It's all right," Wesley responded automatically.  
  
"No, it's not," whispered Angel. "It's not all right. Look what you've done to me." His face crumpled and he sank to the floor without letting go of Wesley's shirt, forcing Wes to drop to his knees as well.  
  
Not knowing what else to do, Wesley wrapped his arms around Angel. The vampire was trembling with suppressed emotion and didn't relinquish his hold on Wesley's shirt, almost as if he were afraid Wesley would go away. "I'm sorry," said Wesley. "I'm so, so sorry."  
  
The reply was muffled, as Angel's mouth was pressed to his own fist. "I know."  
  


* * * * *

  
Wesley wasn't sure, later, how long they knelt there on the floor. When they went to get up, Wesley stumbled and nearly fell - his legs were asleep. Angel, who still hadn't let go of him, kept him upright and helped him over to the couch.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
"Yes - just getting too old to sit on the floor." Wesley's voice was still rough.  
  
Angel sank down onto the table across from him, their knees touching.  
  
They sat there for a while in companionable silence, both of them listening to the sound of Wesley's breathing.  
  
"What did Lilah say?" Angel asked.  
  
Wesley shifted his body, leaning back against the sofa. "They know Cordelia's gone. They know that you were missing, and that you're back, but I don't think they knew where you were. They've been..." he paused, and then forced himself to continue, "looking for Connor, but they haven't been able to find him."  
  
Angel didn't tense at the sound of his son's name. His fingers were gently stroking the back of Wesley's hand where it rested on his knee, almost unconsciously.  
  
Wesley cleared his throat. "I tried to lead her to believe that I was still estranged from the rest of you. I don't think it worked."  
  
"Doesn't matter," said Angel.  
  
"I suppose not. Not now, at any rate." Wesley was thinking about Lilah knowing that he had the visions. Thinking about how he'd slept with - no, _fucked,_ \- the woman. And realizing that Angel probably had no idea what had gone on. "I have to tell you something else."  
  
"What?"  
  
He took a deep breath. "When... after I left the hospital, I started spending some time with Lilah. Not deliberately. She came by here a few of times, and had me meet her once, at the bar I was at tonight - the Platinum Moon. She and I were there the night you and Connor took on those vampires." Angel seemed interested but not upset, so he continued on. "And then she came by another bar - the place just up the street \- one night when I was there."  
  
"What did she want? Information?"  
  
"Not quite. Me. That is, she wanted me - or rather, Wolfram and Hart did - to work for her. Them. I'm sure you can imagine the drill - Wesley, your friends don't want you any more. Think of all the wonderful things we could accomplish, working together."  
  
Angel waited to hear more.  
  
"I won't lie to you. I was tempted." Wesley moved his hand away from Angel's and stood up. He took a few steps toward the kitchen and stopped, his back to Angel. He could say it, but only if he didn't have to look at him. "She talked too much and she wouldn't leave me alone. I finally ended up sleeping with her, just to get her to stop talking."  
  
"You slept with Lilah?"  
  
"Yes. Just the once, which, believe me, was more than enough. I regretted it before it was even over. Although it was a relief to shut her up for a few minutes."  
  
"Is that all?"  
  
"No. I wish it were." Wesley forced himself to turn around. "I made a mistake in going to meet her tonight."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"That vision I had earlier - I had it right in front of her."  
  
Angel grasped the point of this immediately. "So she knows that you've got them. And she knows Cordy's gone. Does she know that Cordelia gave them to you?"  
  
"She guessed. I didn't confirm it, but yes, I think it's safe to say that she knows."  
  
"Fuck," said Angel. And then, after a moment's more thought, " _Fuck._ "  
  
Wesley folded his arms around his waist. "I know. I'm sorry. I didn't think about what would happen - I was just thinking about finding out what she knew, not about what I might inadvertantly tell _her._ Or show her, as the case may be."  
  
"No, it wasn't your fault," Angel said absently. "You didn't know you'd have a vision. It's not like you can sit around at home all day just in case you have one and someone finds out."  
  
"No. But I shouldn't have put myself in that position."  
  
Angel stood up. "Wesley. It's done. We'll deal with it." He stepped closer to Wesley and touched his arm, lightly. "You look tired. Why don't I go so you can get some sleep? Come by the office tomorrow and we'll talk some more."  
  


* * * * *

  


The next afternoon, at the Hyperion:  
  
When Wesley came in Fred and Gunn were cleaning the weapons in the cabinet.  
  
"Hey, man," said Gunn, nodding at him.  
  
"Hello, Gunn, Fred."  
  
"We're cleaning off these weapons," said Fred unnecessarily. "I don't understand how they get so dirty."  
  
Gunn looked at her. "Fred? We use them to kill big ugly monsters."  
  
"I know _that,_ " she said. "But everyone is supposed to clean off the weapons they used before they put them back in the case. And if everyone is doing that, then why are they so dirty? And if people _aren't_ doing that, then _they_ should be the ones cleaning them now. Oh, and for that matter, why do they need to be clean anyway? We aren't using them to perform surgery or anything, and what do we care if a bunch of old ooky dried blood or slime or something's on the blade when we smack monsters with it?"  
  
"The lady has a point," said Wesley, smiling at Gunn.  
  
Gunn looked thoughtful. "I think it goes back to that thing about a double-edged weapon being more dangerous because it can cut you as easily as your enemy. _I_ wouldn't want to get whacked with one of these weapons if it was all covered with filth. You never know when something's gonna get your weapon away from you and use it against you."  
  
"Oh," said Fred, going back to scrubbing at the sword that was lying across her lap. "Okay. It was just a thought."  
  
"Is Angel up and about?"  
  
"Downstairs," said Gunn.  
  
At that moment the front doors of the hotel burst open and two men wearing suits and carrying guns came in. They immediately leveled their weapons on the three people standing in the lobby. Wesley and Gunn froze where they were, slightly in front of Fred, neither of them with a weapon in hand but able to protect Fred with their bodies if it came to that.  
  
"Put down the weapons," the taller of the two men growled. Fred looked confused, then seemed to realize that she was holding a sword in her lap and slowly pushed it forward onto the floor.  
  
Gunn's hand snaked around slowly to the side, reaching for the nearest weapon in the cabinet, but the second man gestured to him with what looked to Wesley like a semi-automatic pistol. "Move away from there, buddy." Gunn took a reluctant step away from the cabinet.  
  
"We're here for Wesley Wyndam-Pryce," said the taller man, pointing at Wesley with his rifle. "Come on. Let's go."  
  
Wesley didn't move. "What do you want?"  
  
"I'm not getting paid to answer questions," said the man.  
  
"Wolfram and Hart sent you."  
  
"I'm not gonna stand here arguing with you all day. Let's go." He gestured with the rifle again, jerking it up toward the stairs to signify the direction in which he wanted Wesley to move.  
  
Unsure of what other options he had, Wesley started to move toward the man and was stopped by Gunn's hand grabbing onto his arm. "No," said Gunn.  
  
"Let's _go,_ " The gunman repeated, sounding exasperated. He aimed the rifle in Gunn and Fred's direction. "I've got orders not to kill you, but I don't mind killing your friends."  
  
Wesley looked at Gunn pleadingly. "Lilah's behind this \- I know it."  
  
"No," Gunn said.  
  
"You heard what he said - they aren't going to kill me. But they... they'll hurt you, and Fred, if I don't go."  
  
Gunn's eyes were locked on his.  
  
"I have to," Wesley said, and went up the stairs. The man with the pistol grabbed Wesley roughly and held the gun low to his side.  
  
The basement door banged open and in a flash Angel was in the lobby, standing next to Gunn and in front of Fred. It took him an instant to size up the situation. "Fred, get out of here," he said.  
  
Fred stumbled to her feet and backed away from them.  
  
"Wolfram and Hart?" Angel asked, looking at Wesley.  
  
"Or Lilah, at the very least." Wesley winced as the muzzle of the pistol jammed into his ribs.  
  
Now Angel spoke to the man with the rifle. "Wolfram and Hart sent you," he said. "So you know what I am."  
  
"Yeah, I know what you are," said the taller man. "I was warned to be careful that you didn't interfere. That's why I brought this." He lifted the rifle and Angel must have seen his finger tighten on the trigger because he jumped to the side, drawing the bullet fire away from Gunn and Fred. The first bullet hit the floor and dug a deep divot. The second and third slammed into Angel's body, lifting him completely off the ground. He slammed back down onto the floor, hard, and lay still.  
  
The last thing Wesley heard was Fred's grief-stricken voice, and Gunn's trying to reassure her, as the two men dragged him out the door and into the hazy Los Angeles sunshine. The last glimpse he had of the lobby was of Angel lying motionless on the floor, a pool of blood spreading out around his body.

  
  
  
  
---  
  
Sitting on the leather seat of a luxury car lost some of its appeal when there was a pistol shoved against your rib cage. Wesley tried to stay calm. A little visit to Lilah, and hopefully he'd be able to convince her that he was on her side.  
  
Angel. He'd be fine, he was a vampire. No doubt it was still exceedingly painful to be shot - Wesley remembered the feeling well enough himself - but he'd heal. And quickly.  
  
The two men in the car seemed to have no inclination to speak with him, so he sat silently and waited. Since he didn't fancy being shot in the gut again, he didn't entertain any notions of trying to jump out of the moving vehicle. After some time had passed, the car slowed and then pulled into an underground parking lot.  
  
Wesley found himself being manhandled into an elevator, which went up three floors and opened onto a hallway. Then they went into a furnished apartment that gave the distinct impression of being only for show - it didn't feel lived in. It was a stage, Wesley realized. Waiting for the show to begin.  
  
A door opened and Lilah came in. She was dressed in a wine-colored power suit and shadowed by a young woman Wesley hadn't seen before.  
  
"Hello, Wesley," Lilah said. "Glad you could make it."  
  
"Lilah," he said.  
  
"What, no questions? No 'Why am I here?'"  
  
"I assume I'm here because you want something."  
  
"Oh, I want lots of things, Wesley. And I'm used to getting what I want." She gestured to a chair. "Sit down."  
  
"I'm perfectly comfortable standing, thank - " Wesley stopped as the thug who was still next to him poked him in the ribs again with the semi-automatic pistol. "Right, sitting down then."  
  
Lilah walked over to him and ran a hand across his shoulders. "This is Sara," she said, waving her hand in the young woman's direction. "I've decided it would be best for her to take the visions from you."  
  
"Really," said Wesley. He tilted his head and regarded the young woman thoughtfully. "And what do _you_ think, Sara? Do you think it would be best?" Her hair was a brilliant red and feathered around her face, and her hands were small, but she looked strong. It wasn't physical strength that would sustain her, though.  
  
Sara looked up, but at Lilah, not at him. She didn't answer him, so he turned his attention back to Lilah. "What are you going to do with the visions, assuming Sara can take them from me?"  
  
"Oh, I can think of a few uses," said Lilah.  
  
"Really. Are you considering taking up a life of crime-fighting? Protecting the innocent? Making amends for your past behavior?"  
  
She chuckled. "Tell yourself whatever allows you to sleep at night, Wesley."  
  
"No, I want to know. What are you going to do with the visions? If you've got control of them..." His mind was racing and there was a quivering in his gut. "If you have control of the visions, you're Angel's only link to the Powers."  
  
"Your mental prowess never ceases to impress me. There's no pulling the wool over your eyes." The corner of Lilah's mouth curled up. "Yes, I do think Angel would find us rather... necessary, if we were his connection to the Powers That Be."  
  
"You're going to blackmail him," said Wesley.  
  
"Oh, Wesley...blackmail is such a harsh word," she said. "I like it."  
  
Wesley was smart enough to know that by now she had figured out that he was reconciled with Angel and the others. She'd known enough to assume he wouldn't be able to be persuaded to side with her and do the blackmailing himself. It didn't seem worth his effort to try to convince her otherwise. "What are you going to do when Sara is no longer able to continue having the visions?"  
  
"Oh, you mean when she burns herself out? We'll replace her with someone else, I suppose. The real question is, what do we have to do? Tell me, Wesley... how did Cordelia give you the visions? We knew that the Irishman gave them to her just before he died - but we never could figure out _how._ And then we were all ready to buy that girl's pretty little eyes - it would have made the whole thing so much simpler, don't you think? \- until you and Angel came barreling in and rescued her." She stopped herself and circled around him again. "So tell me... how did she do it?"  
  
"Oh, they arrived in a nice little gift-wrapped package," said Wesley. "With a ribbon on top."  
  
Lilah stepped forward and slapped him across the face, hard.  
  
His cheek stung, but he smiled at her. "Why, Lilah. Don't tell me I've figure out how to get a rise out of you."  
  
She bent down and pressed her cheek to his so that she could speak directly into his ear, her lips almost touching his earlobe. "Don't forget that I know how to get a _rise_ out of you, too." She stood back up and moved away. "I've got Greg here all ready to help me out on this one, Wesley. I won't let him kill you - not yet, anyway - but he could put a couple of bullets into your less-necessary parts, if you need persuading."  
  
Wesley didn't know if it was going to work, in any case. Cordelia had tried more than once to give the visions away in the first weeks after Doyle's death with no success. "She kissed me."  
  
Lilah looked stunned for a brief moment, and then she laughed. "You're kidding. You mean to tell me that's all it took? No spells, no magickal incantations? The princess just kissed the frog and got herself a precognitive prince?"  
  
"Essentially, yes."  
  
"It can't be that simple."  
  
Wesley shrugged. "I don't know that it will work again. But that's what happened."  
  
"All right." Lilah gestured at Sara. "You heard the man. Kiss him."  
  
Without hesitation, Sara approached him and pressed her lips to his. It was a clinical, dry kiss. Long enough to get the job done, but not a fraction of a second too long. Sara smelled of lipstick and citrus. Wesley felt sick.  
  
Sara pulled back and looked at him, and then at Lilah, expectantly.  
  
"Did it work?" asked Lilah.  
  
"I have no idea. I didn't know that Cordelia had passed them to me until I had the first one." It occured to Wesley, belatedly, that he should have tried to convince her that it _had_ worked so that he could leave. But she probably would have wanted some form of proof, in any case. He didn't think it had worked. Only time would tell.  
  
"Shit," said Lilah. "Could be a while."  
  
"Yes, well. If you'd care to let me go in the meantime, you could always ring me if anything were to happen."  
  
Lilah smirked. "I think we'll have you stick around until we know for sure that it worked."  
  
He slouched back in the chair. She was right, it might be a while.

  


* * * * *

  


When Wesley woke up he had one of those moments of complete disorientation. He didn't know where he was, what time it was, or even what day it was. After a few seconds of confusion he realized that he was lying on a still-made bed in the picture perfect apartment that Lilah had brought him to.  
  
He sat up and discovered that he wasn't alone in the room.  
  
Sara was sitting on a padded chair in the corner near the window, watching him. Her face was impassive, her posture both relaxed and defiant at the same time.  
  
Wesley blinked. "How long was I asleep?" he asked. He now had a vague recollection of giving up on late-night television and stumbling into the nearest bedroom.  
  
The young woman didn't move, but her eyes flickered to the clock across the room and then back to him. "About five hours." Her affect was flat, but her voice held a hint of interest.  
  
Wesley turned and looked at the clock himself. Six. In the morning. For the first time, he found himself actually wishing for a vision, just to bring an end to this enforced vigil. "I'd really prefer it if you wouldn't sit there staring at me."  
  
She remained where she was, her eyes on his face. "What's it like?" she asked finally, just when he'd given up on her.  
  
"What? The visions?"  
  
Sara nodded.  
  
"Bloody awful. Truly. You won't enjoy them."  
  
"I will."  
  
"You're sadly mistaken if you think so."  
  
She searched his face. "No. I like pain." She shifted forward on the chair, leaning toward him, and pulled up one shirt sleeve, baring her arm. It was covered with thick scar tissue that looked like burn scars to Wesley, although some of the scars were shaped. Branded.  
  
"You did that to yourself?"  
  
She shrugged. "Some of it. Had it done. There are people who will pay to hurt you - and I like it, so we both win."  
  
"People like Lilah."  
  
"Her?" Sara scoffed. "Yeah, she's paying me. But she doesn't know anything about _real_ pain." Wesley thought that she was trying to look tough, and she was at least partially succeeding, but she also looked very, very young.  
  
"How old are you?"  
  
"Why?" Her eyes flashed in annoyance.  
  
"Because I'm curious. Fifteen? Sixteen?"  
  
"God! No, I'm eighteen. Totally legal."  
  
Wesley realized who she reminded him of. "You can't keep on like this, you know."  
  
"Yeah. I know."  
  
"Even if you didn't get the visions - and if you did, they _will_ kill you, sooner or later - you're going to end up dead. Is that what you want?" He was surprised at how easy it was to say these things to her, because he didn't know her and wasn't worried about upsetting her. He would have liked to be able to convince himself that he didn't care what happened to her, but that was only partially true.  
  
She shrugged again. "I don't care."  
  
"I find that difficult to believe."  
  
"Whatever. Believe whatever you want." She shifted in the chair again, turning her body slightly away from him and looking out the window.  
  
"How did Lilah find you?"  
  
Sara didn't respond. All right then, clearly the sharing portion of the morning was over. Wesley could deal with that. He didn't have much of a choice.  
  
He went out into the living area. Glenn or Greg or whatever the hell his name was was sitting in front of the television, one hand on the pistol as it rested on his thigh. He looked at Wesley as he came into the room. "Food in the kitchen," he said. "Coffee, donuts."  
  
"Where's Lilah?"  
  
Glenn/Greg jerked his head toward the closed door on the other side of the room. "Conference call."  
  
Wesley went over and stood outside the closed door. Glenn/Greg didn't get up or look concerned. Without knocking, Wesley opened the door and stepped inside the room, which was set up like an office - desk, two chairs, phone, laptop computer. Nothing personal, nothing too permanent. Glenn/Greg, still looking unconcerned, got up and brought his gun over, loitering in the doorway.  
  
Lilah looked up at the two of them and said into the air, "Hang on a minute, gentlemen." She pushed a button on the phone and looked expectantly at Glenn/Greg. The man just continued to stand there. Exasperated, she said, " _What,_ Greg?"  
  
 _Greg_ gestured with the pistol. "You want me to keep him out of here?"  
  
She rolled her eyes at Wesley. "No, it's fine, Greg." She pushed the button on the phone and went back to her conversation. Greg continued to loiter and Wesley listened as Lilah told the men on the other ends of the phone line what had happened the night before - Wesley being kissed by Sara, their waiting to see what came next.  
  
"And have you found out anything on your end, Matthew?" she asked.  
  
A pleasant tenor voice responded. "We still haven't been able to find out how the visions are transferred, but it sounds as though you have that covered on your end, Ms. Morgan."  
  
Lilah grinned. "Yes. Assuming we aren't being played." She glanced at Wesley meaningfully.  
  
"It sounds like you'll find that out soon enough. We've found a few methods that might work - one involved an extensive spell. The other, as you know, is the removal of the Seer's eyes, but you said you were only interested in trying that as a last resort."  
  
Wesley could remember the look of terror on Cordelia's face when he and Angel had found her in the hotel room at the Hotel Ramsey. She'd been waiting for that demon to remove her eyes with what looked like a medieval torture device. He closed his own eyes for a moment. Last resort, the man had said. There was still time.  
  
Lilah had just finished saying something - he'd missed it. Matthew responded. "Actually, we've discovered a rumor - unsubstantiated at this point - that there's a mage somewhere on the east coast who can cast spells that protect the human body from deterioration caused by magical overload."  
  
"A spell that would prevent my new Seer from needing a brain transplant after a year or two?" asked Lilah. "Now _that_ could come in handy."  
  
"Yes, we're trying to track the man down now. I'll let you know as soon as I have anything concrete."  
  
"Good work," said Lilah. "Patrick, Matthew, keep in close contact with each other and with me. Don't leave me wondering what you're up to."  
  
Charming. Greg moved out of his way as Wesley left the office and went into the kitchen. When he came back out Sara was in the living room, watching him again with those strange greenish eyes that didn't reflect her thoughts. He sat down on a chair and sipped his coffee, which wasn't hot enough and was too strong and reminded him of Fred, who for some reason liked her coffee black and bitter.  
  
This time he had nearly twice as much warning - at least six or seven seconds - and that was enough in which to lean forward, put his coffee cup on the table, and lean back again. There was a little gathering feeling at the base of his skull, as if all of his blood vessels were expanding to hold more blood, and then that inescapable light washed the room away from him and everything was different. And more than a little bit fuzzy around the edges, but that didn't matter because as always the focus of the vision was smack dab dead center. Wesley didn't have enough unused brain left at that moment to realize the humor inherent in that thought - everything was sharp and then blurry and he was seeing what someone else saw as he - or she \- walked. It was reminiscent of that film about the Blair Witch \- he was seeing a camera's eye view. The walking seemed innocent enough, even if the swinging motion was enough to make his stomach churn. A somehow familiar, ratty blue truck came into view. A hand - a _brown_ hand - was gripping the door handle of the truck - he heard a sound behind him - and he started to turn. A very large, brick-colored demon with at least six fingers on each hand and at least four horns on its head stood still for long enough for him to get a good look at it, and then _flew_ toward him with a speed he hadn't expected. One arm reared back and then struck him in the shoulder - and good lord, the thing was strong, even stronger than it looked - and he was hurtling through the air toward the side of a building. He felt the sickening crunch as his head hit the wall, and then with a swoosh he was back out of his - the other person's - body, and the familiarity of the truck became clear. Gunn lay on the cement, sprawled, broken.  
  
"No, no, no," someone was muttering. It was his own voice. Gasping, Wesley pushed himself from a sprawl to a more normal sitting position in the chair and looked around. His head was a bolt of pain and the feeling in the pit of his stomach when he remembered the way Gunn had looked made Wesley feel ill. All right. He needed to remember that it hadn't happened, yet. He could still fix things.  
  
When he looked up, Lilah and Greg and Sara were all watching him. Lilah's lips were pursed in irritation. "It didn't work," she said.  
  
"No, obviously not," said Wesley. "I need a phone."  
  
"What did you see?" Lilah looked curious despite herself.  
  
"I saw my _friend_ about to be killed by a demon. I need a phone, now."  
  
"Angel?" asked Lilah. "I think he can take care of himself." She smiled slightly at Greg. "Assuming he's recovered from yesterday's little injury."  
  
"Not Angel," rasped Wesley, his throat feeling raw again. His head was throbbing. "Gunn."  
  
"Oh, your little street friend? Isn't that sweet of you to be worried about him."  
  
Wesley stood up, a bit shakily, and shot Lilah a glance that would have melted steel. "Do you think I want these visions? I don't. But I _need_ to do something about them. Let me use the phone, Lilah."  
  
"What are you going to do if I say 'no?'"  
  
Wesley couldn't help it. He pictured Gunn as he had seen him in the vision, lying broken on the pavement, limbs sprawled. He hadn't seen blood, but he could imagine it. If this vision came to pass, Gunn could very well die - if the blow to his head didn't kill him, the demon probably would. It was all a ridiculous exercise in bad timing. "If you want me to cooperate and help you figure out how to take the visions, you won't say no."  
  
"How do I know you haven't been playing with me all along? I _knew_ it had to be more complicated than a kiss."  
  
Wesley's brain was churning at a rate faster than he could consciously process thought. What would buy him the use of the phone? Should he be honest and say that he had no idea how to give Sara the visions, and promise to do whatever it took to pass them on? Or should he lie and say he'd been lying before, and that he would tell her how to acquire the visions if she let him use the phone? Lilah was too sharp, and he was taking too long.  
  
"If the kiss didn't work, I don't know how to pass the visions on," he said desperately. "But I'll help you find out what will. You can _keep_ me here until I help you find out."  
  
"You think I hadn't considered keeping you?" said Lilah. "If there were a way to do it long-term, I certainly would. You can be... amusing enough, in your own way. But no... eventually the heroic vampire would come and find you. I wouldn't be able to hide you away forever. Or even long enough."  
  
"Let me use the phone. I won't try anything - just let me warn my friend."  
  
"No," said Lilah. "It's no skin off my nose if the street urchin dies. One less lackey for the vampire with a soul is a good thing in my book."  
  
Wesley moved forward quickly, grabbing Lilah by the throat. He squeezed as hard as he could, which was hard enough to cut off her supply of air. She sputtered and Greg raised his pistol at Wesley's chest.  
  
"Let her go," said Greg. " _Now._ "  
  
"Let me go, Wesley," she gasped out, her hands flailing at him ineffectively. "We can make some kind of arrangement."  
  
"No," he said. Wesley glanced at Greg, who still had the gun trained on him. "I'm just going to take Lilah here into the other room and make a phone call. Once I'm done, I'll let her go."  
  
"No," Lilah whispered.  
  
Her voice was quiet. But loud enough. Wesley didn't have time to react - Greg quickly dropped the muzzle of the gun toward his leg and squeezed the trigger. The sound of the gun firing wasn't as loud as he would have expected. He barely had time to think 'not again' before the bullet ripped through the outer section of his right thigh just above the knee, the pain a slice of liquid fire that somehow washed away the fog in his brain that still lingered from the vision.  
  
Before Greg could move again, Wesley's free hand - the one that wasn't locked onto Lilah's throat - shot out and the heel of his hand made contact with the end of Greg's nose, slamming upward and in. Greg made a tiny squeak and fell to the floor with both hands clasped to his face. In an instant Wesley had released Lilah and scooped the gun off of the floor. He backed away far enough that he could effectively threaten all three of them with the gun. He could feel hot blood running down his leg, but didn't spare it a glance. It was too important that he not remove his eyes from these people for a second.  
  
Sara was standing quite still, looking at him. She didn't look as if she felt threatened or afraid or, for that matter, much of anything. Lilah had an expression on her face that was half smirk, half frown. As if she were impressed and annoyed at the same time. Greg groaned and rolled about on the floor for another moment, and then sat up, tears and blood streaming down his face. He started to reach a hand toward his ankle, and Wesley pointed the pistol directly at him.  
  
"No, I don't think so," Wesley said. "Remove the weapon _very_ slowly, and slide it across the floor to me."  
  
A flicker of doubt traveled across Greg's face.  
  
"I assure you, I'm an excellent shot," said Wesley. "And I won't hesitate to kill you." He kept his peripheral vision trained on Lilah and Sara as he watched Greg unbuckle the second gun that had been holstered to his lower leg and slide it across the floor toward him as he had directed. He bent down slowly, ignoring the pain in his thigh, and picked the smaller pistol up off the floor.  
  
"And now I believe I'll be going," he said as he tucked the second gun into the waistband of his slacks. "I'd say that I appreciated the hospitality, but then you _did_ kidnap me." Wesley backed slowly away from them toward the front door. He opened it without turning around and backed out into the hallway. None of them had moved. "Don't follow me," he said. "Don't _have_ anyone else follow me. You won't like the results." He closed the door to the apartment.  
  
Immediately he headed down the hallway toward the elevator. He didn't intend to use it - he didn't want to be trapped if Lilah had had anyone waiting outside - but the stairs must be at the end of the hallway, as well.  
  
Walking down the two flights of stairs to the main lobby was sheer torture, but he managed. His slacks were wet with blood, but he didn't seem to be losing too much. He didn't have time to stop and check now - he'd do that later - but he suspected it wasn't a serious wound. He wasn't sure if Greg had been trying not to hurt him badly, or if he'd just been a lousy shot.  
  
He peered around the edge of the stairwell's fire door before entering the lobby, but there was no sign of anyone. All was quiet. Perhaps Lilah hadn't been viewing the situation as one which required maximum security. Holding the gun partially tucked under his arm so as not to alarm passers-by, Wesley stepped back out into the sunshine.  
  
Wesley managed to walk two blocks from the apartment building until he reached a convenience store. There was a bench out front, and a pay phone. He thought he had some time before the demon in his vision would attack Gunn, so - sit first? Or call? Afraid that if he sat down he wouldn't be able to persuade himself to get back up, Wesley limped to the phone. He tucked the first weapon into his back of his slacks along with the second one and pulled his shirt out to cover both. He dropped some change into the slot and dialed Gunn's cell phone.  
  
It only rang once before he heard the blessed sound of Gunn's voice on the other end of the line. "Yeah?"  
  
"Gunn, it's me."  
  
"Wes! You okay? Where are you?"  
  
"I'm all right. I don't know where I am, exactly - "  
  
There was the sound of the phone being wrestled out of Gunn's hand, and then Angel's voice. "Wes? Wesley, are you all right?"  
  
"Yes. Are _you_ all right?" Wesley remembered the pool of blood underneath Angel's body yesterday afternoon. He shivered.  
  
"Yeah, you know - I'm a fast healer. Where are you? Gunn can come pick you up."  
  
" _No,_ " Wesley said urgently. "Don't let him go, Angel. Do you hear me?"  
  
"Yeah, I hear you, Wes. What's going on?"  
  
"I had a vision, earlier. Gunn, being attacked by a demon when he went to get into his truck outside the hotel. Keep him there until it's dark and you can go out with him. Please."  
  
"Okay. I've got it. Can you jump in a cab and get back here?"  
  
"Yes, I suppose so."  
  
"Do it. And be careful - get back here in one piece."  
  
The concern in Angel's voice warmed Wesley, more than he cared to admit. He hung up the phone and flagged down the next taxicab that drove by. The driver glanced back casually as Wesley opened the door and then did a double-take. "Christ, buddy! What the hell happened to you?"  
  
Wesley looked down at his leg - his slacks were torn and bloody, but thankfully blocked his view of the wound. He didn't want to see too much. "It's nothing," he said.  
  
"You want the hospital?"  
  
"No, thank you. Corner of Wilshire Boulevard and Norton, please." Wesley shifted just enough to dig the bottle of pills out of his pocket, winced, and then grimaced as he dry-swallowed two tablets. The cab driver was watching him in the rearview mirror, but Wesley didn't have the energy to reassure the man that he wasn't going to die or overdose or whatever else might be concerning him. Oh, possibly the blood all over the back seat of his cab. Wesley unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off, leaving him wearing only a t-shirt. He wrapped the shirt around his leg and pressed a folded section down over the wounded area to slow the bleeding.  
  
The question that was really concerning him was whether Lilah was going to come after him again. He thought she might, if she could figure out a way to get the visions from him for her own gain. On the other hand, he didn't think she'd go so far as to remove his eyes. But maybe that was being overly generous on his part. The conversation with her colleague about the man on the east coast who might know a spell that would prevent his brain from turning to mush, though - that was valuable information. He might not _want_ the visions, but if he was stuck with them, it would be nice if he could survive for longer than a year or two. He didn't fancy ending up like Cordelia had on her birthday.  
  
His leg was starting to _hurt._ The initial pain had been hot, but then once he'd started moving he'd been able to block it out. Now it was burning again, with the ache that accompanied a wound that wasn't life-threatening but would probably leave quite a scar. Wesley wasn't sure he liked that he was able to identify different types of injuries so specifically. A close relationship with pain hadn't been part of the original job description.  
  
The rest of the ride passed in a blur as the pain in his head and the pain in his leg fought sarcastically with each other. Neither was able to win out over the other. He just sat quietly and observed while it happened, grateful to be sitting and still alive.  
  
When the cab pulled up near the corner Wesley pointed the front door out to the cab driver, who obligingly stopped as close to it as he could. Wesley thrust some money through the slot, aware that he was tipping outrageously but feeling justified because A) he was still alive and B) he _had_ bled all over the man's back seat. Holding his wadded up, bloodied shirt under his left arm, he limped up the walkway.  
  
Gunn and Fred came quickly out the front doors to meet him. Fred's face fell when she saw Wesley. "Oh, you're hurt!"  
  
A frown creased Gunn's face as he noted the two pistols stuck into the rear waistband of Wesley's pants. "What the...? Lemme take those for you," and he plucked them from their place as the two of them led him into the lobby, where Angel was waiting anxiously, looking for all the world as if he'd spent the last twenty minutes pacing. He practically jumped to get his hands on Wesley, and supported him on his way to the couch.  
  
"Shit," said Angel. "Why didn't you tell me you were hurt?" He knelt at Wesley's feet and tried to get a look at his injury through the torn space in the fabric of Wes' slacks.  
  
"It's not serious," protested Wesley, even as he started to tremble in a delayed reaction to everything that had happened. He was _safe_ here.  
  
"These are history anyway," Angel muttered, and ripped open Wesley's slacks, to which he'd obviously been referring. He ran his hands over Wesley's skin just below the wound, and then took the first aid kit from Fred, who'd gone to retrieve it as soon as they'd come in. He looked up at Wesley. "You're shaking." Over his shoulder to Gunn - "Get a blanket or something."  
  
"I'm fine," said Wesley.  
  
"No, you're _not_ fine," said Angel, as he pressed a wad of gauze over the now sluggishly bleeding gash in Wesley's leg. "But you're right, it's not serious. Bullet?"  
  
"Yes. I think I got lucky; either that, or he was a lousy shot."  
  
"Either way you got lucky," said Gunn, draping one of the throws that Cordelia had liked to keep around over Wesley's shoulders.  
  
He couldn't stop shaking. After a moment, Fred sat down beside him and wrapped her arms around him. Her warmth gradually diffused through the blanket to him, and he began to relax.  
  
Angel was taping some fresh gauze pads over the wound. His touch on Wesley's skin felt too intimate. "Just grazed you. Could probably use a stitch or two, but I think it'll be okay," he said, leaning back on his heels. "So it was Lilah?"  
  
"Yes," Wesley said, forcing himself back to the present from the calm, mellow place he'd managed to drift into. "She'd gotten all excited about the thought of having a Seer of her very own, apparently."  
  
"She was gonna _keep_ you?" Gunn asked, sounding indignant.  
  
"No, she was rather hoping I might be able to give the visions to an employee of hers. Once she started thinking about the fact that Cordelia had given _me_ the visions, she thought it would suit her purposes for me to give them to someone else."  
  
"Please tell me she didn't have to _shoot_ you to get you to kiss some guy," Gunn said.  
  
Wesley almost grinned. "No. And it was a girl. She said she was only eighteen years old. And already working for Lilah. Poor thing."  
  
Fred moved the arm that was around Wesley's chest, but let the one around his shoulders remain. "Angel said you had a vision about Charles."  
  
"Yes," he said. "Being attacked by a demon, when he went out to get into his truck." Wesley looked at Gunn to make sure that he was paying attention. "Therefore, don't go out to your truck until after dark, when Angel can go with you. And yes, I had the vision right in front of Lilah \- _again._ That was when we discovered that the girl hadn't been able to get the visions by kissing me."  
  
"Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?" Fred asked tentatively.  
  
"Both," said Wesley. "Neither? It's complicated. It's probably a good thing, because it means that we don't have to worry just yet about what Lilah wanted to do with the visions."  
  
"So how'd you get shot?" said Gunn.  
  
"I tried to strangle Lilah in an attempt to persuade her to let me use the phone to call you and warn you, and her henchman took offense to my hand on her throat, apparently."  
  
"You got shot because you wanted to warn me about your vision?" Gunn sat down, rather heavily, on the couch next to Fred. He looked dazed for a moment, and then his face cleared and he smiled at Wesley. "That's twice, English. Don't let it happen again."  
  
Wesley found himself smiling back, wryly. "I'll do my best."  
  
Angel finished packing the supplies back into the first aid kit. "What did Lilah want with the visions?" he asked quietly.  
  
"Pardon me?"  
  
Angel looked up at Wesley. "You heard me." His voice was low but intense, and his eyes were dark and unreadable.  
  
Wesley knew that he'd already guessed and was just waiting for confirmation. "Yes, of course you're right. You understand how her mind works."  
  
"She was gonna use them against me."  
  
"Essentially. She thought she'd have you at her beck and call if you needed her to provide the information about the visions. You'd have to do what she said - if you wanted to help the innocent, earn redemption."  
  
"Bitch," Angel growled.  
  
"Well, yes, but we'd established that some time ago, hadn't we?" said Wesley with a hint of good humor.  
  
"She's gonna regret this," Angel said.  
  
"Let's worry about that later, okay, man?" said Gunn. "Right now, let's focus on saving _my_ ass from some demon. What'd it look like, Wes?"

* * * * *

  


It had only taken an hour of research for Wesley to identify the demon that was going to attack Gunn. Then, despite his five hours of sleep at Lilah's mystery apartment, Wes had been exhausted and had slept upstairs in the hotel, on Angel's bed, for most of the day.  
  
Now, several hours later and dressed in a too-large-around-the-waist, too-long pair of spare jeans that Gunn kept at the hotel for emergencies, Wes sat on the couch and drank the tea that Fred had made. It was too weak and too sweet, but he appreciated the thought and drank it anyway.  
  
Angel came back into the lobby, sword swinging casually from one hand and looking pleased. "All set," he said. "You were right - I cut off one of its arms and it started squealing and thrashing around. _Fred_ could have killed it. She and Gunn are on their way back to his place, safe and sound." He eyed Wesley carefully. "You okay?"  
  
"Yes, of course. You agreed that it's not a serious injury..."  
  
"Wasn't talking about your leg." Angel put the sword back into the weapons cabinet.  
  
"Ah." Wesley put down the book he'd been flipping through and smoothed its cover with his hand. Which was totally unnecessary, but which made it look as if he had something to do other than stare at Angel, which was what he _wanted_ to be doing. "And again, yes. I'm fine."  
  
"You sure?" Angel came over and stood next to the couch, bouncing on his heels.  
  
"Yes. Are you sure _you're_ all right? You seem rather..." Wesley wasn't certain there was a polite word for it. "Hyperactive?"  
  
Angel shrugged. "You know - excess fight energy. Adrenaline's all up." Bounce, bounce.  
  
"Can I ask you something?"  
  
"Sure." Bounce.  
  
"How do you feel about Cordelia leaving?"  
  
The bouncing stopped. "What?"  
  
Wesley echoed Angel's earlier words. "You heard me."  
  
"Yeah. Yeah, I did." Angel sat down on the couch. "I don't know. Confused? Sad. Frustrated."  
  
"Were you - _are_ you in love with her?"  
  
Angel's eyes widened. " _No._ Well... maybe? I thought I was. But how did you...?"  
  
"Well, you know - when she came to my flat to give me the visions, and she said I needed to tell you that she loved you..."  
  
"Oh." Angel leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Did you think she meant, like, _loved_ me, loved me?"  
  
"Um... yes." Wesley couldn't force down the last few sips of the now-cold tea in his mug - the liquid was thick and cloying. He balanced the mug carefully on the couch between himself and Angel. "That's definitely the impression that I got."  
  
"Huh." Angel stood up, and then sat back down again. "Really." He stood up again. "Huh."  
  
"You didn't realize she felt... that way, about you."  
  
"No. I mean - yeah, I kind of hoped she did." Angel started to pace in front of the couch. "Are you _sure,_ Wesley? Because, you know, when you told me what she said, before, I just thought... you know, that it was her way of saying - goodbye. That she was telling me she loved me as a _friend._ "  
  
"You knew that already," Wesley pointed out.  
  
"Yeah, but it wasn't... it's not the kind of thing we say to each other, you know? At least, not unless we think the world's gonna end or something."  
  
Wesley smiled fondly. "Yes, I remember. Cordy was glowing that day, wasn't she."  
  
Angel stopped and stared at him. "You _smiled._ "  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"No, I just - I can't remember the last time you smiled \- a _real_ smile, I mean."  
  
"We've none of us had a real reason to, have we." Wesley couldn't help but recall everything that had happened in the past months. It seemed like a horrible dream, and yet it was all too real.  
  
Angel sat back down again. "Guess not. But you're right \- she was glowing. Like she was all lit up inside."  
  
"You do love her."  
  
"Of course I do, Wesley. I love her courage, and I admire her dedication to a cause that she certainly never asked to be involved with. I love her because she's part of my family \- same as Fred and Gunn. Same as - " Angel stopped abruptly. "Of course I love her. Lorne even said something about it being mutual - my feelings for her."  
  
Wesley thought his heart had stopped for a moment there, but apparently it continued to beat despite himself. "It sounds complicated," he said, and the words sounded flat even to his own ears.  
  
Angel's hands were clasped together on his knees, one thumb rubbing against the back of the other. "Well, yeah. Relationships are like that. I love her like - like I loved Drusilla and Spike, because they were _mine_ in a way Darla never was." He shook his head. "I thought that I loved her - that I was _in_ love with her. You saw the way that she was with Connor, Wesley. She _loved_ him, and I could see some kind of future, you know? A mom for Connor, living like a family. And then everything was so fucked up - Connor was gone, and then Cordy came home and then Connor came _back._ And she was still like that with him - this maternal, womanly version of Cordy that I hadn't expected and she just knocked me on my ass." He slowed to a halt. "But she couldn't have been in love with me."  
  
Wesley didn't see the point of continuing to insist that she had been, as he didn't really know and there wasn't any real need to convince Angel even if he had. Cordelia was gone.  
  
"I mean, she's _Cordelia!_ " Angel continued after a moment, when it had become clear Wesley wasn't going to respond. "She's all about - you know, money, and prestige, and how stuff _looks._ She complains constantly about my fashion sense. There's just no way..."  
  
Wesley frowned. "A moment ago you were yammering on about how courageous and dedicated she is, and now it sounds like you're saying she's shallow and money-grubbing."  
  
"No, I just - " Angel sighed. "Yeah, well, like I said - relationships are complicated. I had plenty of time down at the bottom of the ocean for thinking, and - well, I _thought_ I was in love with her. I did. Now, I'm not so sure."  
  
Wesley could understand that.  
  
"Do you miss her?" Angel asked.  
  
"Yes. But I was..." God, this was hard. Why had he started this conversation?  
  
"What?"  
  
"I was going to say... I was missing her already. She left me first." Try as he might, Wesley couldn't keep the hurt from creeping into his voice.  
  
"That was probably my fault."  
  
"It was hers, as well. She chose not to come and hear my side of things."  
  
"I think she was trying to be... you know, loyal. To me."  
  
"Right." No hiding the bitterness here, either.  
  
"I know that Fred talked to her, about you, after she came back from her vacation. Fred wanted Cordy to visit you. But I think Cordy was worried that I'd be pissed off - and I'm not saying I wouldn't have been - and Fred and Gunn had said that you were okay. Maybe she thought it was easier to just let it be."  
  
"Easier for _her_. And I wasn't okay, Angel." Admitting that was harder than he'd thought it would be, but letting the words out felt cleansing, somehow.  
  
"I know," Angel said. "And... for what it's worth, I'm sorry. I was - I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to get from one minute to the next. I was totally focused on losing Connor, and I was so _mad_ at you..."  
  
Wesley rubbed his leg right above the bandage through the thick denim of Gunn's borrowed jeans. "I know. I'm sorry, too."  
  
"What do we do now?"  
  
Unable to contemplate any further discussion, Wesley stood up stiffly. "Well, I for one would like to get some more sleep. Fred said I was welcome to use her room for the night if I didn't want to drag myself home."  
  
"I didn't mean... I meant, about us." Angel clearly wasn't ready to let the subject drop, but he moved with Wesley as he started up the stairs, one hand under Wesley's elbow in support.  
  
"What is there to do?"  
  
"I mean... are we friends again?"  
  
Wesley stopped halfway from the top of the stairs and turned to look at Angel incredulously. "Shouldn't that be my line? I _never_ stopped being your friend, Angel."  
  
Angel let go of him and moved sideways, still on the same step but suddenly a thousand miles away. Emotion was flashing behind his eyes, one flicker and then another, like a pinwheel spinning 'round. "Then - yeah," he said finally, and the distance between them closed in a heartbeat. "If you're still my friend, even after everything that's happened. Yeah."  
  
Wesley turned to continue up the stairs, but inside he was smiling. "Gunn said something about... there being a lot of water under the bridge," he offered.  
  
Angel snorted. "Have to be a hell of a big bridge to go over all that water."  
  
The smile slipped out onto Wesley's face before he could stop it. It felt good.  
  


* * * * *

  
Wesley woke up at two a.m. and realized immediately that he was lying on Fred's bed, which was an immense improvement over having woken in Lilah's apartment. He had one of the nagging after-vision headaches that would burrow at the edge of his brain just enough to prevent him from going back to sleep. He grabbed the borrowed pair of jeans from the foot of the bed and felt for his pill bottle in the pocket. Then he remembered that he had taken the bottle out of his own slacks in Angel's room earlier. It was probably still on Angel's bedside table.  
  
He put the jeans back on, tightening his own belt at the waist enough to prevent them from slipping over his non-existent hips. He walked down the hall to Angel's room. Should he knock? Or just sneak in quietly in case Angel was sleeping? Trying to find a middle ground, he knocked very softly and then pushed the door open.  
  
Angel's bed was empty. Angel was curled up in a chair, a book in his hands. He put the book down on the floor as Wesley came in - face down, which would damage the spine, noted Wesley - and stood up. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and in the low light of the bedroom the marks from where he'd been shot the day before looked more like bruises than anything else. "Hey. What's up?"  
  
Wesley forced himself to look at something, anything, other than Angel, and focused instead on the bottle of pills. He walked over and picked it up, gestured with it. "I forgot these in here, earlier."  
  
"Oh." Angel rubbed one hand against his abdomen unconsciously. Wesley found himself staring, again. He couldn't stop himself. A pull, like an invisible cord stretched taut between the two of them, drew him over to Angel's side.  
  
"Those look like they'll be gone in another day or so," Wesley observed, brushing the tips of two fingers across one of the marks in a whisper of skin on skin.  
  
Angel shuddered and caught Wesley's wrist. "Yeah, well \- like I said. I'm a fast healer."  
  
Wesley didn't try to pull away. He didn't try to move closer. He just stood where he was, with the feeling of Angel's hand locked around his wrist. Until Angel released him. Wesley backed away a few steps, toward the door, his heart jumping in his chest. And not necessarily in a bad way, but it was too soon.  
  
"Wes?" There were at least a half dozen questions in that one word.  
  
Wesley wasn't nearly as eloquent in the ways of silence, but he did his best to answer all of the questions in one sentence. "We're fine, Angel." He backed through the doorway into the hall. "Good night." 

* * * * *

  


Two days later:  
  
It always seemed to happen at the most innocuous times. He would be washing some dishes or picking a catalogue up off the rug or, heaven forbid, actually having the audacity to brush his teeth, and then * _wham._ * Visual and auditory attack, followed in most cases by having to pick himself up off the floor with sheer will power, and in some cases by a celebratory round of vomiting. In the bathroom, if he was lucky.  
  
And yet, somehow, it gradually became normal. Fascinating, really, what the human animal could become accustomed to under extreme circumstances.  
  
Wesley groaned and rubbed at his jaw with the back of his hand. For the most part he'd been fortunate so far - he hadn't cracked his head open on any lurking furniture - but this time he must have landed face first. There was something wet on his hand and he thought it must be blood, but when he brought his hand higher so that he could see it, he discovered that he'd only been drooling. Charming.  
  
All right. The routine had begun.  
  
Step one: Get up. He lifted himself off the floor of the office and stumbled to the nearest chair. Sank down into it, still rubbing his sore jaw. At least he didn't seem to have loosened any teeth.  
  
Step two: Pills. He took two with the last sip of coffee that had grown cold in Fred's mug, abandoned on his desk earlier in the day. He'd gotten into the habit of taking them as soon after a vision as possible, especially if no one was around, because he didn't like the looks the others exchanged when they saw him downing the medication. He understood Cordelia so well now.  
  
Step three: Information exchange. Wesley went out into the empty lobby and stood there for a moment. His brain was working at about half speed, slowly churning out what he needed to know. Ah, yes, Gunn had gone out to pick up dinner. Angel was... either upstairs, or downstairs. If Wesley's brain had known which, it was unwilling to provide the answer. He wished he could remember.  
  
The sound of a door opening, and then Fred came around the corner. She recognized the look on his face immediately. "You had a vision."  
  
He nodded. "Gunn's still out, is he?"  
  
"Yes. Angel's downstairs, though - do you want me to get him?"  
  
"Please." Wesley went back into the office and picked up the book that he'd dropped onto the floor at the start of the vision. It seemed undamaged. He put it on his desk and then went over to the bookshelf and regarded it thoughtfully. Where was that book on demons from the Bit'ara dimension? He knew he'd seen it somewhere recently - ah, there it was. He leaned against the bookshelf and started flipping through the book.  
  
Angel came into the office, shadowed by Fred. "What did you see?" He stopped a couple of yards from Wesley, giving him plenty of personal space. Since the incident the other night he'd been careful not to crowd Wesley, which Wes appreciated more than he could say.  
  
And of course what Wesley could say was nothing, because Wesley had no idea how to broach the subject of their potentially mutual \- what? Attraction? It had been the middle of the night, Angel had been shirtless and looking like a pale god, Wesley had touched him, and Angel had grabbed his hand. Stopped him, it had seemed.  
  
Right. Nothing to discuss. Oops, except for the vision he'd just had.  
  
"It was a young man being attacked by some kind of Bit'ara demon. I haven't been able to identify it yet - the demon, I mean."  
  
"Where? When?"  
  
"Out at that old stone building - the one that used to be the asylum? And quite soon - within an hour or two, I'd say, from the position of the moon... although that's certainly not a reliable measure under any circumstances..."  
  
Gunn came around the corner carrying a large paper bag. "Hey! I got chicken! Finger lickin'-good... and we're not gonna get a chance to eat it, are we?"  
  
"Sure you are," said Angel. "Just - in the car."  
  
"We'd best go at once," Wesley agreed. For once the pills he'd taken seemed to be doing some good. "I'll bring the book with us and try to find the proper species on the drive."  
  
Step four: Resolving the situation. They checked the trunk of the car to make sure they had what they needed as far as weapons went, and headed out. Gunn and Fred ate a quick meal in the back seat, passing a chicken leg up to Wesley who tried to eat it without getting the book in his lap all greasy.  
  
"I'm starting to wonder if I've got the dimension of origin all wrong," he fretted. "These all look mostly right, but I'm not sure any is the exact one I saw."  
  
"Well, pick the one that looks closest and tell us how to kill it," said Gunn.  
  
Wesley rifled through a few more pages and settled on one line drawing. "All right - most of them seem to die in the normal ways - destroy the brain, puncture the heart - which is located in the center of the chest just below the chin."  
  
"Center of the chest below the _chin?_ " asked Gunn.  
  
"Well, yes - it doesn't have much of a neck, you see." Wesley held the book higher so that Gunn and Fred could see the picture from their vantage point in the back seat.  
  
"You didn't mention that it had ten _arms,_ " said Gunn.  
  
"Didn't I? And actually there are twelve appendages, but they're more tentacles than arms, really. And they function as mouths - the mouth on the face is for breathing, although Bit'ara demons don't derive the same things from the air that we do..." Wesley tried to focus on the more important aspects. "In any case, the tentacles are very powerful - if it gets ahold of you with one, cut it free immediately. These demons can suck a big hole through your arm or your chest - they've been known to remove internal organs through a small hole in the flesh."  
  
"What about fire?" asked Angel.  
  
"Oh yes - fire will work. We have the flame thrower in the trunk - I was thinking Gunn might...?"  
  
"You got it," said Gunn.  
  
"Hope I don't need to remind you to be careful where you aim that thing," said Angel, glancing into the rearview mirror.  
  
"Nope."  
  
"What about me?" asked Fred.  
  
"Stay in the background," Gunn said. "If we get into trouble, we'll let you know - otherwise, let us handle it. This isn't a small one."  
  
They arrived and parked the car. Wesley glanced at Angel. "Leave your coat in the car," he said, and then winced as he realized he was talking like a man in charge. "If we're going to be putting the flamethrower to use, best not to be a larger target."  
  
Angel shrugged out of the wide-sleeved cotton jacket he was wearing and threw it onto the seat without comment.  
  
They headed up the hill toward the deteriorating building. It had been unused for years, and looked a bit like a place that would be haunted. Which it was, or at least would be soon, Wesley supposed, if only briefly.  
  
"What would somebody be _doing,_ up here?" Fred asked quietly from behind him.  
  
"Nothing good," said Angel.  
  
Wesley almost smiled. "Getting into trouble, no doubt," he agreed. "Now everyone be quiet for a moment. We don't want to be surprised."  
  
Following Wesley, they crept up to a large door, which wasn't closed. Angel was directly behind him and slightly to the left. He could hear the sound of Gunn breathing softly and the rustling movements of Fred's long sweater. His heart was beating just a tad too quickly, but in an anticipatory way that made him feel like he was vibrating just under the skin. Wesley glanced back over his shoulder at the sky to check the position of the moon, which was just about where he'd seen it in his vision. His leg brushed against the sword Angel was holding low toward the ground.  
  
"Any time," he whispered, and knew that Gunn and Fred had heard him. There was the sound of Gunn adjusting the strap of the flamethrower, that right strap that always twisted just a little bit and caught at your neck. Wesley crept forward and through the doorway, with the others just behind him.  
  
That first hallway smelled of dust and and mildew and papers sat too long in piles until they ceased to be individual pieces of paper at all. It was very dark - there were no windows - and yet Wesley stopped and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to listen to something inside of himself. He opened his eyes again and started moving down the hallway.  
  
The door he turned to was about twenty yards down the hallway, and the doorway opened into a very large room. A row of windows set high on the walls just below the ceiling allowed the moonlight from outside to filter in, bathing at least the front half of the room with a silvery light. The room was so empty it echoed \- there were a few chairs lying abandoned, tipped over, against the near wall. The smell here was still of dust, but also of decay and a fresher, sharper smell. Just a few inches behind Wesley Angel growled, very, very softly, and Wesley knew what that smell was. Blood.  
  
An echoing growl, much louder, came from the opposite side of the room, from the shadows. One bit of the shadow separated from the others and moved toward them at a dizzying speed. Before Wesley had time to think the demon was upon them, tentacles waving and enormous mouth (and why did it need that big a mouth, when it didn't use it for eating?) gaping and snarling, and all of the sounds echoing throughtout the room so that it sounded as if there were a dozen demons instead of just one.  
  
Wesley raised the crossbow in his hands and pulled the trigger \- the bolt hit one of the flailing tentacles close to the creature's body and nearly severed it. The thing screamed in a low tone that made the pit of Wesley's stomach ache, and black blood splattered onto the floor around them. Wesley didn't have time to do anything else - another tentacle whipped out and knocked the crossbow from his hands. He rolled to one side to retrieve it, and when he got up he saw Angel hacking at the thing with his sword. The low-toned screaming continued. Three of the tentacles were now on the floor, and the one that Wesley had hit was dangling uselessly. Fred stood in the doorway, watching. Gunn had fired up the flamethrower and was waiting for the right moment to use it.  
  
The demon was so _fast._ It looked as if it would be clumsy, but it wasn't. Angel sliced at it again, opening a wound in its side this time, and Wesley followed with another bolt, this one hitting the side of the thing's head but glancing off as if the creature's skull were exceedingly hard.  
  
The demon knocked at the sword and Angel almost dropped it. Before he could recover his stance a tentacle had grabbed onto Angel's arm and attached itself there. Angel made a noise that could have been described as a moan. Everything was happening very quickly, but suddenly time seemed to slow for Wesley and he took advantage of the phenonmenon while he could. Raising the crossbow again, he fired a bolt that neatly severed the tentacle that was attached to Angel's arm. Black blood fountained and at the same time the creature moved back a fraction of an inch and Gunn yelled, "Angel, _down!_ " and instinctively Wesley dropped the crossbow and tackled Angel to remove him from the line of fire.  
  
Which of course was rather like tackling a statue - Angel's body in its fighting stance was weighty and solid, his center of gravity low. Wesley had a moment to wonder if he could have actually budged the vampire at all, and then Angel reacted and continued the motion that Wesley had started and they both slammed into the floor, Angel rolling as they fell so as to take some of Wesley's weight. The hit was still bone-jarringly hard, and the momentum of the fall carried them another full rotation until they fetched up against a chair, Angel mostly on the bottom and the demon's tentacle on his arm wrapped around them both.  
  
They looked up in time to see the demon fully engulfed in flames, the orange and yellow flickers casting an eerie glow on Gunn's face as he continued to feed the fire with the flamethrower. Fred was several feet behind him, peering around the edge of the doorway and watching as the creature burned. It wasn't even moving anymore, not the slightest twitch. Gunn cut the flamethrower off abruptly and with it the light in the room was dimmed by a third. The demon continued to burn down - it was probably less than half of its original size now.  
  
Wesley pushed himself away from Angel onto his knees, and taking Angel's wrist in his grip, yanked the tentacle off of the vampire's arm.  
  
Angel made a face. "God, that's disgusting."  
  
"Are you all right?"  
  
Angel lifted his arm up to inspect the ragged hole that the tentacle had left in his sleeve. When he rolled the sleeve up, the edges of the oval-shaped wound were serated and it looked deep, but strangely it wasn't bleeding. "Yeah, I'm okay. Weirdest thing I ever felt." He stood up and gestured toward the back of the room. "Blood."  
  
Wesley scrambled to his feet and he and Gunn followed Angel back into the shadows, with Fred trailing behind. The light from the burning corpse of the demon was fading now, and Wesley almost stumbled over Angel when the vampire knelt down on the floor beside the body of a young man. Wesley put out a hand to brace Gunn from crashing into him in turn. The smell of blood was heavy in the air, so thick that Wesley could almost taste it. He wondered what it was doing to Angel, whose sense of smell was so much stronger than theirs. It must be nearly overpowering.  
  
His eyes slowly adjusting to the light, Wesley crouched down next to Angel and saw that the darkness on the floor that he had thought merely shadow was, in actuality, blood. The body of the young man was covered with it, his clothing poked full of holes as though the demon had been using him as a tentacle-pincushion. He was lying on his side facing them, and the staring eyes behind the wire-rimmed glasses told all of them that he was dead. Not even cool yet, in fact - when Angel rolled him over, he still had the floppy muscle tone of the recently-dead.  
  
"He's dead?" asked Fred in a soft voice.  
  
"Oh yeah," Angel replied shortly. "If the blood loss and all these holes in him didn't kill him, I'll bet this did..." He rolled the body further, so that it was facing away from them and they could all see the large, uneven hole in the back of the skull and the raw bloody space where the brain had been.

* * * * *

  


They were all quiet for the first ten minutes of the drive back to the hotel. It had always been hard when they hadn't been able to prevent what Cordelia had seen in a vision, but this was the first time it had happened since the visions had passed to Wesley. He tried to be circumspect. Sometimes things happened for a reason, and sometimes things happened and there _was_ no reason. It wasn't always possible to be the victor in every situation.  
  
But Wesley had to work hard not to think about what the last moments of that young man's life must have been like. Granted, from what they'd found strewn around the scene it did seem likely that the man had summoned the demon himself.  
  
As if she had read his thoughts, Fred asked, "Why would he have summoned that thing?"  
  
"I don't know," Wesley sighed. "To see if he could? That's often the reason young people begin to dabble in the occult - curiosity, a desire to see what they're capable of."  
  
"But didn't he know that the demon would try to kill him?"  
  
"He may not have thought that far ahead. Or perhaps he believed he was prepared to handle it, and didn't discover that he wasn't until it was too late."  
  
Angel shifted uncomfortably behind the wheel. He looked like a man who was trying very hard not to follow a conversation. "Why don't we call it a night?" he said suddenly. "Gunn, I can drop you off if you want."  
  
"Cool. You sure? It's only half past seven."  
  
"Well, yeah. Don't you think, Wes? This was enough for one night, right?"  
  
"Most definitely," said Wesley.  
  
When they pulled up in front of Gunn's place, Fred climbed out after him. "I'm gonna stay with Charles," she said shyly. "I'll be back in the morning."  
  
"And we'll take care of that anonymous tip thing," Gunn said. Later on in the evening the police would receive a call from a pay phone saying that there was a body up at the old asylum.  
  
They said their goodnights and Angel turned the car to head to Wesley's apartment. After a moment, he said, "Wes?"  
  
"Yes, Angel?"  
  
"I'm - I know I should have said something before, but... I'm sorry about the other night."  
  
Sorry for what? thought Wesley. And then, "Sorry for what?"  
  
"For, you know, scaring you."  
  
Wesley was dumbfounded. "You didn't scare me, Angel."  
  
"Are you sure? As soon as I grabbed your wrist, you... just froze. And I could smell it on you - the fear - or, I thought I could..." Angel glanced at him in confusion. "And your heart was beating too fast."  
  
"I'm sure it was," said Wesley, remembering how he'd backed out of the room without taking his eyes off of Angel.  
  
"You weren't scared? Because I wasn't gonna hurt you."  
  
"That's good to know." Wesley smiled at him. "And in case you don't recall, I was the one who touched you, first. I rather thought I'd offended you."  
  
"What? No." Angel seemed torn between watching the road and looking at Wesley. Apparently making up his mind, he pulled the car over and put it into park. "Offended me? Are you serious?"  
  
"Well, yes... I touched you, and then you grabbed my wrist. Of _course_ that's what I thought. But I wasn't afraid of you..."  
  
"You were afraid of something else."  
  
Wesley exhaled heavily. "I suppose maybe I was."  
  
"What?"  
  
"The situation?"  
  
Angel spoke slowly, as though he were trying to clarify something he already knew the answer to. "The situation. You... touching me. And me liking it. That situation?"  
  
"I -" Wesley stopped. He was too uncomfortable to even think about looking at Angel, so he looked down at his hands instead. There was a bit of dried blood on the edge of his thumb. "I don't know what to say. If you liked it, then... why did you stop me?"  
  
"Because I wasn't sure it was deliberate - I mean, I wasn't sure that it wasn't just a friend thing, you know? And if it _was_ just a friend thing, I didn't want to let you keep doing it, when it was making me..." Angel trailed off.  
  
"This _is_ extremely awkward, isn't it." Wesley's fingernail scraped at the dried blood, flaking it off in tiny flecks.  
  
"Wes." Angel waited, and when Wesley continued to look at his hands, repeated his name again. " _Wes._ Could you just look at me for a minute?"  
  
Wesley dragged his eyes up to meet Angel's, but couldn't sustain the gaze for more than a moment or two. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I'm... this makes me very uncomfortable."  
  
"Okay." Angel said. "Then don't look at me. But there are a couple of things I have to say, and the first one is - I do like it. When you touch me. And if... if it makes you nervous, or uncomfortable - knowing that, I mean - then I'm sorry. But I think it's better for you to know. I don't want there to be any more secrets between us."  
  
Wesley couldn't respond, and after a moment Angel went on. "And the second thing is - I don't want to do _anything_ that scares you. So if me touching you is a problem, I need to know that."  
  
Now Wesley couldn't stop himself from looking up at Angel, and he knew that his desperation was probably clear on his face. "No - that is, I don't - oh, hell." The urge to hide was overwhelming, but it wasn't as though he were going to jump out of the car and run off down the street screaming. Tempting a thought though that was. Wesley dropped his face down into his hands and took a deep breath.  
  
Angel waited patiently.  
  
Wesley looked up again. "This is very, very difficult for me to..." He couldn't finish.  
  
"I get that," Angel said. "And - this isn't a conversation that needs to be wrapped up now. If you need some time, that's okay." He put his hand on the gear shift to put the car in gear and start driving again.  
  
Before Wesley could stop to think, his own hand flew out and gripped the back of Angel's. "No," he said, and the desperation had crept from his face into his voice, which was hoarse and gravelly again. "Just - wait."  
  
"Okay." Angel turned his hand slightly and rested it on the seat, with Wesley's still gripped onto it. They weren't quite holding hands.  
  
Minutes ticked by as Wesley thought of, and then rejected, various things that he might have said. Part of the problem was that he _was_ afraid, of what might happen if he was willing to admit to what he wanted. Angel's skin against his palm and fingers felt cool and comforting and oh so right. It was distracting.  
  
"I don't know what to do," Wesley admitted finally. "Not that that isn't completely obvious."  
  
"Yeah, I got that, too," said Angel. He slid his hand sideways the tiniest bit, freeing up his thumb so that he could rub it gently across the edge of Wesley's smallest finger.  
  
"I'm not sure I should do this again," said Wesley, in a voice so small and rough that anyone without vampire senses would have had to strain to hear it.  
  
"Do what?"  
  
"Get close to you." Wesley looked at their hands entwined on the seat.  
  
"I won't - I _can't_ promise that I'll never hurt you again, Wes," Angel said. "Because I might. You of all people know how complicated things are. But I don't want to hurt you. I'll do my damndest not to."  
  
"It's not just that," Wesley protested. "I hurt you, as well. I just - I want to be sure of what we're getting into."  
  
"I think you know. Maybe that's the problem."  
  
"It very well could be."  
  
"I don't want to lose you again, Wes. I've lost enough. Your friendship is more important to me than... you know, getting closer."  
  
Wesley felt ill at the reminder of Connor. Every once in a while, for a few minutes at a time, he forgot about the baby - and the boy - and each time when he remembered it was like a hole had reopened in his heart. Which in turn reminded him... "How's your arm?"  
  
Angel tilted it so that his elbow was pointing toward Wesley and they could both inspect it at the same time. The hole was still there, but was filling in and was probably half the size it had been. Wesley ran his fingers gently next to the wound, wondering again how the vampire's body was able to repair itself so quickly, and a fine tremble ran through Angel.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry," Wesley apologized immediately, withdrawing his hand. "Is it very painful?"  
  
"No," Angel said. "It doesn't hurt. Just - the touching thing again."  
  
"Of course," said Wesley. Sometimes he could be so _dense._ And even as he thought that he needed to be more careful, pay more attention to what he was doing, his hand, of its own volition, stole out and stroked Angel's arm again. The skin just below the wound was the same temperature as the night air \- warm, but not overly so - and felt alive. Which it wasn't, and still...  
  
Angel submitted to his touch for almost half a minute before shuddering more violently and grabbing Wesley's hand. His voice tight, he said, "Don't start something here, Wes. I can take a lot, but don't mess with my head."  
  
"I wouldn't do that," Wesley said quietly.  
  
A pause. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. Sorry." Angel loosened his hold on Wesley's hand and turned it, exposing the underside of his lower arm. He ran gentle, questing fingers the length of Wesley's arm, from elbow to wrist, in a long, slow slide that ended with a careful tracing of the veins at Wesley's wrist.  
  
Wesley shivered and all of the hairs on his arm stood up on end. The sight of his veins there, just below the surface of the skin, with Angel's fingers moving over them... "I see what you mean," he said, rather breathlessly.  
  
"Glad I made my point." Angel looked at him apprehensively. "Wes... would it be okay if..." He didn't finish the question, and instead moved very timidly closer to Wesley and wrapped his arms around him, slowly, giving Wesley plenty of time to protest or move away.  
  
Wesley's heart was racing, but after a moment he gradually relaxed into Angel's embrace, resting his chin against Angel's shoulder. Angel was holding him gently, and Wesley could tell that he was trying to be as non-threatening as possible by the way he was slightly tense, waiting to react if Wesley seemed ready to end the hug. "It's all right," Wesley said softly, and Angel relaxed, his arms tightening around Wesley protectively.  
  
"That really freaked me out tonight," Angel admitted after a few moments.  
  
"What did?"  
  
"Finding that kid."  
  
"Yes, it was unfortunate that we weren't able to arrive in time to save him. But you know, Angel, that we can't always prevail in every situation..."  
  
Angel interrupted Wesley's speech but didn't move away from the embrace. "Not that. I mean, yeah, I was upset that we didn't get there in time. But... you really didn't see it?"  
  
"See what?" Wesley suspected that he was being dense again.  
  
"He looked like you. He looked a _lot_ like you. Hair, eyes..." Angel's arms tightened a bit more around Wesley. "Even his _glasses_ were like yours. And how he died... that could be you, Wes. Any time. Humans aren't meant to have the visions."  
  
Wesley pictured the young man's body, sans brains. "I know. But I'd imagine we have some time - it was more than a year before Cordelia began to have serious problems, and almost another year before the - incident on her birthday. I've only had the visions for a few months."  
  
Angel pulled back so he could look at Wesley's face. "You aren't worried?"  
  
"Of course I'm worried, but it's important that we focus on what we can actually expect to accomplish."  
  
"Promise me that you won't do what Cordy did - don't hide it from us. Whatever's going on, you have to let us know."  
  
"I will. I promise. You were right, before - no more secrets."  
  
"Good. We can start looking into it. There must be a solution."  
  
Wesley was thinking about what Lilah's employee (co-worker?) had said. He'd already done some checking around, and narrowed the potential east-coast spellcaster down to a few individuals. He was hopeful, but not quite ready to say anything about it yet. He'd know when the time came to do something about the situation.  
  
"You okay?" asked Angel, one hand cupping Wesley's face.  
  
"I'm fine." And impulsively, Wesley leaned forward the few inches required to close the gap between them and pressed his lips to Angel's. Only for a fraction of a second, and then he started to draw back.  
  
Angel made a small noise in the back of his throat - not a whimper exactly, just a little sound - and brought his other hand up to hold Wesley where he was. His hands were gentle, not forceful, but they were enough to stop Wesley from pulling away. Angel leaned in to capture Wesley's mouth with his own, kissing him very, very softly.  
  
Wesley let the kiss linger for a moment, and then drew back reluctantly. Angel let him go.  
  
"So..." Wesley said after a moment.  
  
"Yeah," Angel said, and then left him the space to get distance if he needed it.  
  
"So. Back to the office, then?" Wesley asked, knowing that he was taking the easy way out and yet infinitely relieved despite his cowardice.  
  
"We let Gunn and Fred have the rest of the night off, and you want to go back to _work?_ " Angel put the car into gear and pulled away from the curb out onto the street.  
  
"I do have paperwork to catch up on. And it's nice to be able to do it when the hotel is quiet - no interruptions."  
  
"It seems quiet without Cordy," Angel said.  
  
"Yes, it certainly does. I hope she's happy, whatever it is she's doing now."  
  
They arrived back at the Hyperion and Wesley followed Angel into the lobby. Before the front door had even swung closed behind them, Angel was frozen on the steps.  
  
"Angel?"  
  
"Blood."  
  
"Well, yes, it's on your clothes, and..."  
  
"This is different. Someone else's blood." Angel glanced back at him. "Wait here."  
  
Wesley didn't, but as a compromise he followed Angel very slowly as the vampire went down the steps and cautiously into the office. Whatever Angel saw there made him stop and hold one hand back toward Wesley in a warding-off gesture.  
  
"Hang on a sec, Wes, this is..."  
  
Wesley pushed past him far enough so that he could see, and then stopped. The naked body of a woman was stretched out on the floor in the center of the office, legs and arms flung wide. Her body was split down the center from the base of her chin down into her pubic hair, skin pulled back for maximum exposure. The entire contents of her visceral lining had been removed. Wesley swallowed hard, and forced himself to look up at her face.  
  
Sara.  
  
"I know her," Wesley said faintly.  
  
"What?"  
  
"She's the girl... The one Lilah was going to have take the visions. Her name is Sara. She was only eighteen..." Wesley groped for the door frame, for something to hold onto. "Dear Lord. What have they done?"

  


* * * * *

  
  
There was actually far less blood than Wesley would have anticipated. Angel said that it was probably because Sara had been killed elsewhere and just deposited at the hotel after the fact. Angel had covered her with a blanket without asking once he'd seen the look on Wesley's face.  
  
"Do you think she was conscious when they killed her?" Wesley asked.  
  
"No way to tell. Why?"  
  
"I just wondered. She told me that she liked pain, liked to be hurt. I wondered if perhaps she offered... but no. I'm sure she musn't have wanted..." Wesley grimaced.  
  
"I've seen worse," Angel offered, and then looked immediately as if he wished he hadn't. "Sorry."  
  
"It's all right." Wesley paced a bit, nervous energy making it difficult for him to stay still. "They left her here for a reason."  
  
"Because Lilah's an incomparable bitch?"  
  
"That, too. But no, I rather suspect that this was meant as a warning."  
  
The telephone rang.  
  
Wesley and Angel exchanged a glance, and then Wesley went over and picked it up just as it rang a second time. "Angel Investigations."  
  
Lilah's voice. "Did you get my message?"  
  
"Yes, I did. I suppose expecting you to put pencil to paper would have been a bit much to ask."  
  
"I'm used to getting what I want, Wesley. You're rather... intimately acquainted with that fact, aren't you."  
  
"If you mean me, Lilah, then I'm sorry to have to tell you that you never had me. And if you mean the visions, and your intention to use them against Angel, then I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed again."  
  
Lilah clucked her tongue reproachfully. "Do you really think I'm going to let you disappoint me?"  
  
"Was it really necessary to kill this poor girl? And for that matter, what are you going to do now that she's dead?"  
  
"I'll just find someone else," Lilah answered, and he could picture her casual shrug. "She was convenient at a moment's notice, but since we don't seem to be in a hurry just now, I have some time to find someone... more suitable."  
  
"You have all the time in the world, Lilah, because you're not going to get me."  
  
"You can't keep running from me forever, Wesley. Would you like me to kill a few more girls in your name?"  
  
Wesley felt the blood drain from his face. "You insufferable bitch. Don't you dare blame me for your actions. I - " He was shaking with rage and heard Lilah start to say something just before Angel pushed the speaker button on the phone and motioned at him to stay quiet.  
  
"Lilah."  
  
"Angel. Your boy's gotten himself awfully worked up there, hasn't he."  
  
"He's not - Do you remember what I told you after you set your little psychic guy on Cordelia? It still holds true, Lilah. You want to come at me, you come at _me,_ not through any of my people."  
  
"You really get off on playing the big hero, don't you? Really, Angel, my proposition here is very simple. I want the visions. You, presumably, want your friend to live, which you _know_ he won't be able to do if he keeps the visions. Help me get them from him."  
  
"He's not interested," said Angel, refusing to meet Wesley's eyes.  
  
"I notice you don't say that _you're_ not interested. You don't want him to die, do you, Angel? Surely it would be a fair trade, his life for your... loyalty to me."  
  
"It wouldn't be loyalty. It would _never_ be loyalty."  
  
"You call it whatever you have to. Think about it for a few days. Maybe the next time he has one of those visions and ends up with his brain leaking out his ears..."  
  
"Goodbye, Lilah," Angel said without emotion, and pushed the button that hung up the phone.  
  
Wesley wanted to wrap his hands around Lilah's throat and squeeze, but instead he found himself staring at Sara's blanket-covered form. He could feel Angel's eyes on him.  
  
"She threatened you," Angel said.  
  
"Not me. She said she'd kill some more girls in my name." The emotions were nearly overwhelming; and then, like the snap of a shutter, there was blessed distance. Wesley wasn't sure how he'd done it - it hadn't been a conscious decision, but it felt familiar. One moment he was upset and angry and dismayed, and the next, he felt nothing. It was a relief that he couldn't even appreciate.  
  
"You okay?" Angel was looking at him strangely.  
  
And funnily enough, he was fine. He'd put everything away on a high shelf where he couldn't see it, let alone reach it. "I'm fine. What will we do with the body?"  
  
"I'll take care of it. You sure you're okay? You look..."  
  
"What?" asked Wesley, hearing the roughness in his voice.  
  
"Never mind. Let me take care of this." Angel went over and picked up Sara's corpse, still draped with the blanket, and disappeared out of the office. Wesley decided not to wonder where he was going or what he was going to do with her.  
  
Right. Paperwork. Wesley went over to the desk and started to make some notes about the evening's activities - the vision, the asylum, the Bit'ara demon and the young man's death. It was all very clinical, told from the viewpoint of someone who was merely observing, not involved. He lost himself in the words and the movement of the pen on the paper, and was mildly surprised when, some time later, he sensed someone in the room and looked up to find Angel watching him.  
  
"All taken care of?"  
  
"Yeah. If anyone's looking for her, they'll find her. Heck, even if _no one's_ looking for her..."  
  
"I suspect she was a runaway," Wesley said. From a purely intellectual point of view, of course, since anything more instinctive would require remembering the expression on Sara's face when he woke to find her staring at him. Would require remembering her utter lack of expression, and the knowledge that she was already lost. Though, perhaps, not in a bad way. Lost wasn't always a bad place to be.  
  
"Are you sure you're all right?"  
  
Wesley felt a tiny flicker of something deep in his chest, but let the ember die. "Angel, I'm fine."  
  
"You don't sound fine."  
  
"I assure you, I am."  
  
Angel came over and sat on Wesley's desk, blocking his access to the papers he'd been working on and nudging into his personal space.  
  
"Angel, back off. I'm not in the mood."  
  
"You were earlier," Angel reminded him. "What happened?"  
  
"You mean other than a girl dying?" Damn, damn. That sounded and felt like he might actually care.  
  
"I mean, what's going on in your head?"  
  
Wesley put on his best talking-to-Lilah voice, the one that sounded intellectual and condescending and somehow never worked on her. "Angel, I'm fine, and I really don't care to discuss this further."  
  
"You're _not_ fine," said Angel. "And to be honest, I'm getting sick of hearing you say that you are, when it's obvious to anyone with half a brain that you're not."  
  
"I'm surprised you managed to figure it out, then," Wesley said.  
  
" _Fuck_ you, Wesley," Angel growled, jumping up off the desk. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"  
  
"Trying to get you to leave me alone," said Wesley. "Let me know if it's working."  
  
Angel's face cleared. "No," he said slowly. "Nope. Not working."  
  
Wesley's fist was clenched. "I need some space, Angel."  
  
"You don't," Angel said, as though he knew. "You're just trying to drive me away - there's a difference. You're scared and you think it's easier to get me to back off than to take the chance that things might actually work out."  
  
Wesley deflated, his earlier despair returning. "But look at everything that's stacked against us," he said, quietly. "The visions, Lilah; it's _too_ complicated."  
  
"Only if we let it be," said Angel.  
  
"And what about the past between us?"  
  
"It's behind us, Wes. We can't keep living in the past \- we're no good to anyone like that. We have to keep moving forward."  
  
"Can you do that, Angel?"  
  
"I think so. Even if I have to drag you kicking and screaming behind me." Angel smiled tentatively.  
  
Wesley was back in the world of the feeling now, and it was good and terrifying at the same time. He wanted this, but he wasn't sure he could take another fallout like the last one.  
  
"So what do you think?" Angel asked.  
  
"I think this is even more complicated than I'd realized, and that's saying a lot."  
  
"S'okay. It's all right if it's complicated. I meant - do you think you can put the past behind you?"  
  
"I can't forget it," said Wesley, and he was picturing Connor as a baby, his sweet round face and chubby clutching hands.  
  
"I know. We shouldn't." Angel sat back down on the desk again.  
  
"We won't," Wesley said, and leaned forward, slowly.  
  
Angel kissed him. It started out tentative, a little spark, but very quickly became a blaze that burned nearly out of control. Hard, bruising kisses that Wesley could feel all the way down into the pit of his stomach. Angel's hands were on his shoulders and Angel's tongue was in his mouth and it was all happening so fast.  
  
Wesley had to pull back just to get some air into his lungs. The look on Angel's face would have alarmed him if he hadn't been on fire himself. "Someone might come in. The office is technically still open..."  
  
"Upstairs," said Angel hoarsely.  
  


* * * * *

  


Wesley closed the door to Angel's suite behind them, and before he had finished turning around Angel grabbed him, plundering his mouth brutally and pressing their bodies together. Wesley moaned into Angel's mouth and shoved him backwards, walking Angel toward the bed as they continued to exchange searing kisses. They fell down onto the bed, Wesley on top, and then rolled sideways. Angel grasped his hip and pulled him closer with one hand, all the time kissing him. Angel ground their lower bodies together, and Wesley felt and heard him groan.  
  
And then Angel was wrenching himself away. He flew across the room to stand near the kitchen.  
  
"Angel?" Wesley asked uncertainly.  
  
"Get out of here, Wesley. _Now._ I'm sorry - I shouldn't have let it get this far. I wasn't thinking - I can't do this. You _know_ I can't do this." Angel stood facing away from him.  
  
Wesley looked at the way Angel was standing - shoulders down but otherwise tense, muscles taut and fists clenched. He'd waited too long - he hadn't known how to tell him at first, and then he'd been waiting for the right time, which had never seemed to come. It was here, now.  
  
"Angel. Come over here and sit down."  
  
"Wesley, I _can't_."  
  
Wesley slid away to the far side of the bed, sitting up and putting as much distance between himself and Angel as possible. "I won't touch you, I promise. Just... talk. I need to tell you something."  
  
Reluctantly, Angel turned around and walked back over to the bed. He sat down, not facing Wesley but not showing him his back, either.  
  
"First off, let me say that I'm sorry for not telling you this sooner. I should have. I suppose I didn't know where to begin..." Wesley sighed. Angel was staring down at a fold in the blanket, worrying at a loose thread with his fingers. "Are you listening?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"After Darla came back, when... when we learned that she was pregnant, and it became clear that you had slept with her without losing your soul... I did some checking. I did think it obvious that perfect happiness wouldn't necessarily be achieved through sexual intercourse or even just... er, sexual completion. But I was curious."  
  
Wesley cleared his throat. "I'm... am I correct in thinking that Darla has been the only... test case? Since Buffy, I mean?"  
  
Angel glanced up at him. "Yeah."  
  
"I thought as much. In any case, shortly after Connor was born, I phoned Sunnydale to speak with Giles, who, as it turned out, had returned to England. I called him there and asked him to look into the spell that Willow had used to restore your soul. I would have called her directly, you understand, but..."  
  
"She probably would have told you to go to hell." Angel's lips twitched in a parody of a smile.  
  
"Most likely. And as Giles was willing to play go-between, it all worked out for the best." Wesley hesitated, trying to think of a gentle way to say what came next. He couldn't. "The spell Willow used to restore your soul didn't have a perfect happiness clause."  
  
Angel looked blank. "What?"  
  
"She used the spell as Giles' friend wrote it, apparently, and it didn't include that clause. I don't know if Willow would have changed the spell herself, but regardless of whether she might have had the experience or the inclination, she didn't have the time. The spell that she cast was identical to the original in every way but the one."  
  
"I don't..." Now Angel looked confused.  
  
"You won't lose your soul, Angel. Well, I suppose there are still ways in which you might, but... they haven't anything to do with your happiness. You must have wondered... in those early days after Connor was born...?"  
  
"Tried not to think about it," said Angel, then shook his head. "No, that's not right. I tried _not_ to be completely happy. In case it would help. Yeah, I wondered."  
  
"So. No clause. Which means you can do anything that makes you happy, Angel. Err... _anything_."  
  
"But that means..." A grin spread across Angel's face.  
  
"Indeed."  
  
"You're _sure._ "  
  
"I am. Completely sure, without a doubt. You must know I wouldn't take the chance, otherwise?"  
  
"Yeah. No, of course you wouldn't." Angel had stopped smiling and he seemed dazed. "I never thought... I mean, I thought that was _it_ for me. Until - unless - the whole Shanshu thing worked out."  
  
"It must be a shock. I _am_ sorry I didn't tell you sooner..."  
  
"No, no," Angel said, waving away the apology with one hand. "I can see why you didn't." He stood up and walked over to Wesley's side of the bed, where Wes had been sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest in an attempt to seem unthreatening and small. He held a hand out to Wesley, who took it with what he was sure was a questioning look on his face.  
  
All thought of questioning - indeed, all thought entirely - fled when Angel, with dizzying speed, pulled Wesley to his feet, pushed him up against the nearest wall and proceeded to rip his shirt off of him. The vampire's mouth descended upon Wesley's chest, his lips and tongue marking him with saliva, teeth marking him with tiny nips that weren't designed to break the skin but only to tease. Wesley leaned his head back against the wall and let Angel do what he would.  
  
There was a brief moment when Angel's mouth left his skin, and by the time Wesley noticed and opened his eyes, Angel's shirt was also off. Wesley had seen Angel in various states of undress before, but he had never allowed himself to fully enjoy the sight of the vampire's body without feelings of guilt or shame. Now, he stared unabashedly, drinking in the taut muscles, wide shoulders, and smooth, pale skin. He glanced up at Angel's face and saw that he was also being watched.  
  
"It's been a long time," said Angel.  
  
"I know, not since Darla..."  
  
Angel leaned in and silenced Wesley with a kiss. "Didn't mean that. We've been a long time getting to this place, you and I."  
  
Wesley reached out a hand and traced his fingers down over Angel's ribcage. Angel grabbed his wrist and pressed it up against the wall over his head, holding him there. Angel took his other wrist, brought it up to join the first, and then held both in place with his own larger hand.  
  
"God, I need this," Angel said, and kissed Wesley so thoroughly that Wesley almost forgot where he was. Angel's free hand was in the small of Wesley's back, holding him close, and with his arms restrained there was nothing Wesley could do but enjoy it.  
  
Angel continued to kiss him, deeply, sweeping his mouth with his tongue as if he were trying to memorize the terrain. He moved his hand to the front of Wesley's hip, now holding him still against the wall when all Wesley wanted was to feel the length of Angel's body pressed against his.  
  
When Wesley moaned in protest at the lack of contact, Angel jerked his own body forward, crushing Wesley to the wall with his weight, grinding into him with hips and pelvis and thighs and cock. Wesley groaned and did his best to thrust against Angel in return.  
  
Angel pulled his face away from Wesley's. "You taste so good, Wes."  
  
"Yes, well, let's not get too carried away with the tasting, shall we?" Wesley managed to get out, and Angel laughed.  
  
"Don't worry," said Angel. "I told you I wouldn't hurt you."  
  
"You told me you'd _try_ not to hurt me, and I don't believe we were talking about physical pain."  
  
Angel looked serious, and dropped his hold on Wesley's wrists. "You nervous?"  
  
"No," Wesley shook his head. "Not about a little bit of pain. I'm sturdier than I look, you know."  
  
"I know." Angel kissed him again, quick and hard. He pressed his weight into Wesley again, then snaked one hand between them to undo the front of Wesley's slacks. His fingers were slightly cool as they slipped under the front edge of Wesley's boxers.  
  
"Angel..." Wesley let himself moan the name slightly. It sounded good. In a few moments Angel had stripped both of them naked, and somehow Wesley was still standing up against the wall and he wasn't quite sure how any of it had happened. But he found he didn't care, because then Angel was on his knees in front of him, and the sight of that made everything else disappear.  
  
Angel rested his hand on Wesley's thigh, one thumb stroking the hairs there slightly against the grain, toward his inner thigh and just... barely... missing coming in contact with Wesley's balls. Wesley was sure the space between was a fraction of a millimeter, and the ghostly stroking made him want to squirm. Angel's other hand was on his waist, keeping him shoved up against the wall.  
  
Wesley felt Angel's weight shift forward, the hand on his thigh pressing more firmly for a moment, and then a cool, wet tongue licked its way slowly, almost casually across his balls and up the length of his shaft, to end its journey by dipping into the little hole at the tip. Wesley shuddered violently and grabbed onto Angel's hair. "Again," he rasped.  
  
So Angel did it again, and then a third and fourth time as Wesley shuddered and moaned and clutched at him. By the time Angel wrapped his lips around Wesley's cock and took it deep down into his throat, Wesley was nearly incoherent. It was less than a minute before he came; Angel swallowing some of it and then backing off to catch the rest in his hand.  
  
While Wesley was still panting out the aftermath of his orgasm, Angel took a step back and, making sure that Wesley was watching him, stroked his own erection with his palmful of Wesley's warm fluid. He looked at it thoughtfully. "Won't be enough," he said, as if to himself, and went over to rummage in his bedside table drawer. He came back with a small tube of lubricant and slicked himself up with it before turning Wesley around to face the wall. Wesley spread his legs at Angel's unspoken urging, felt a cool hand spread more lubricant up between his cheeks. There was the unmistakable sound of a slick hand stroking hard flesh. Angel was holding him open with one hand, and Wesley felt the tip of Angel's cock pressed against his opening.  
  
"Need this," said Angel in his ear, and the vampire's voice was tight and controlled. "Can I?"  
  
"Yes," Wesley said quietly, and although he knew Angel had heard him, there was no response.  
  
"You sure?" Angel asked finally, the control wavering on the verge of snapping.  
  
"Angel, just *do it.*"  
  
Wesley couldn't hear the snap when Angel's control broke, but the change in the room was palpable all the same. Angel grabbed Wesley's hip and slid home, pounding Wesley into the wall with what seemed like no thought for his comfort or safety. It was more exhilirating than anything Wesley had ever known.  
  
The thrusting was more than a bit uncomfortable at first, but within a few thrusts the lubricant distributed itself a bit more evenly and things got easier. There was no finesse, no gentleness, nothing but raw need and the urge to satisfy it. Angel now had both of his hands on Wesley's waist and was driving into him like there would be no tomorrow, no second chances. Everything was here and now.  
  
Wesley was shoving himself backward to meet Angel's thrusts, no longer desperate for his own release but instead focusing on Angel's. He could tell from the way his pelvic bones were being slammed into the wall that he'd have myriad bruises come morning, but he didn't care.  
  
One of Angel's hands shifted to Wesley's shoulder, causing Wes to arch his back, and on the next thrust the angle was different, deeper, and Wesley moaned in surprise and renewed desire. Angel sped up, the brutal force he was expending increasing. For a moment he seemed to have lost the rhythm, and then he groaned loudly and stiffened, his hands locked on Wesley's body, his hips jerking as he came long and hard. Wesley could feel Angel's cock throbbing inside of him, and his own cock rallied briefly at the sensation.  
  
Angel leaned in closer, pressing himself against every possible inch of Wesley's skin, licking Wesley's shoulder where a bead of sweat had formed. They were both trembling and Angel wrapped his arm around Wesley's waist - Wesley didn't know which one of them this was meant to support.  
  
"You okay?" Angel asked, roughly.  
  
Wesley didn't have the energy to laugh. "Of course."  
  
Angel's arm tugged against his belly. "C'mon, then."  
  
Wesley allowed Angel to guide him over to the bed, where they drew down the blankets and collapsed in a heap. Angel's hand moved gently over Wes's sweat-soaked abdomen in a back and forth pattern, like brush strokes, lazily.  
  
"Is this real?" he asked suddenly, sounding concerned.  
  
Wesley turned his head so that he could see Angel's face. "I certainly hope so. You weren't sure I was correct and you still went through with it?"  
  
"I - well, I knew _you_ were sure. Figured you knew better than I did..." Angel trailed off. "I really needed to believe it was true, you know? But there was still this little part of me that didn't."  
  
"There doesn't seem to be any question now."  
  
"No." Angel rose up onto his elbow and leaned over Wesley, rolling partially on top of him and pinning him to the bed. He reached down and ran a finger down the line of Wesley's jaw, then leaned a bit further and kissed him, long and slow. He flexed his lower body gently against Wesley, who felt Angel's already-recovering erection pressed to his thigh. "Again?" asked Angel, thrusting against him.  
  
In reply, Wesley kissed him. Where before their coupling had been hard and frantic, now it was slow and gentle, unhurried. There was nothing to prove any more. The kisses lengthened and took on a life of their own. Lips on lips, tongues meeting, Angel kissing Wesley with one hand on either side of Wesley's head as his lower body moved against Wesley's. Cocks to either side of each other, glistening with sweat and pre-ejaculate, rubbing and sliding.  
  
Angel reached down and slid two fingers into Wesley. "Again?" he repeated.  
  
This time Wesley said "Yes," and drew his legs up to allow Angel access to his well-lubricated opening. Angel slid down and pressed his cock slowly into Wesley, groaning against Wes's neck as he did so.  
  
"Oh, God," Angel said.  
  
"Definitely not," Wesley replied, and rocked his pelvis upward when Angel didn't continue to move.  
  
"Oh, God," Angel said again. He pulled out part way and thrust back in, moving with excruciating slowness. Out and in, again and again, while Wesley writhed under him uncontrollably.  
  
"Faster," Wesley begged. "Angel, it's too..."  
  
"Shhh..." said Angel. "Just let it..."  
  
So slowly. There were moments Wesley wasn't sure that Angel was moving at all.  
  
"It's not..."  
  
"It will be, just be patient..." Angel had both hands on Wesley's waist, pinning him to the bed, preventing him from moving more than the tiniest amount.  
  
Wesley thought he was going to lose his mind. The tantalizingly slow thrusting was keeping him right on the edge of completion but not allowing him to topple over. His erection was aching painfully and he was gasping for air, which was strange considering he certainly wasn't exerting himself physically. He was just lying there while Angel fucked him very, very slowly.  
  
Then one of the hands was gone from his waist and wrapped itself around his desperate cock, stroking him very, very slowly in time with Angel's thrusts. Wesley hadn't thought anything could be more mind-blowingly torturous than the slow fucking, but he'd been wrong - the two tortures combined eclipsed the light in the room. Everything was black and he didn't even care if he'd gone blind as long as Angel let him come.  
  
"Angel..." he heard himself whimper.  
  
"It's okay, Wes. Now... come on, now..." And every nerve ending in Wesley's body seemed to be firing at once; it seemed like his orgasm started in his fingers and toes before rushing through his body like a hurricane, and he dimly felt Angel's cock throbbing inside of him as his own seed exploded from him. Wesley could feel his heart pounding in his ears but he couldn't see and he didn't think he could breathe, either.  
  
Long moments later, Wesley opened his eyes and trembled in Angel's arms and tightened his own arms around the vampire as if he never wanted to let him go. Angel was lying on his back with Wesley cradled against his chest, murmuring his name.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
Wesley had to clear his throat before he could speak. "Didn't you ask me that last time?"  
  
"I'll take that as a yes, then. And I'll probably ask it next time, too."  
  
"Yes, I'm fine. Very well, actually. How are you?"  
  
Angel chuckled. "Well, you know, I'm... good. Really good."  
  
"I'm glad." Wesley listened as his own breathing slowed gradually. He was very tired, but his brain was running in circles and he wouldn't sleep. He wanted some time on his own, time to think, so he concentrated on breathing very evenly in the hopes that it might lull Angel off to sleep.  
  


* * * * *

  
  
After about an hour had passed, Wesley eased himself away from the sleeping Angel and retrieved his clothing from about the room, moving as quietly as he could. He crept downstairs to the office, checked his email and voice mail, and gathered some paperwork together. He couldn't keep his eyes from returning to the spot on the floor where Sara's body had been - there were still a few small blood stains there. She'd been so young, and now she was dead. He had better sense than to blame himself, no matter what Lilah thought - Sara's death was on her hands, not his. But he didn't trust Lilah enough not to come after him again, and next time he might not get off so lightly. In fact, next time he probably _wouldn't_ get off so lightly, and some of the expense might be the lives of his friends.  
  
He needed some distance. If he weren't in L.A., it was possible that Lilah would eventually get caught up in some other scheme and move on. She wouldn't forget about him - he knew that - but she might find someone or something else more interesting, more potentially valuable. And in the meantime, even if he stayed and she did nothing, the visions would gradually destroy his brain until he died.  
  
Wesley realized he'd been staring at the floor, at the blood stains on the floor, for a long time. When he blinked, his eyes felt dry.  
  
He went back to the computer, calculating expenses and checking for flights and looking at maps. He'd need to rent a car. Two of the spellcasters were in Massachusetts and one in Rhode Island \- he'd aim for those three first, and the other two, further down the east coast, afterward, assuming he needed to. He had the other information ready.  
  
For some reason he looked up, and Angel was standing in the doorway. Wesley had a strong sense of deja vu.  
  
Angel was wearing a pair of pants he'd obviously pulled on hastily, and blinking in the light. "I woke up and you were gone."  
  
"Yes, I'm sorry. I'd hoped you might get some sleep. I had... some things to do."  
  
Angel came into the office and looked at him. "What's wrong?"  
  
Wesley sighed and dropped his head down into his hands. He had a headache again, and he was already tired of them. He had no idea how Cordelia had put up with the visions for so long.  
  
"Wes? Tell me."  
  
"I have to go away."  
  
"What?" Angel actually looked mildly stunned. He took a few steps to the nearest chair and sat down. "Where?"  
  
"There is purportedly a spellcaster on the east coast who knows a spell that protects the human body from the deterioration caused by magical overload. I don't know for sure that this person even exists, but I need to find out. If it's true, and the spell works - it would save us from going down the same road that we already traveled with Cordelia."  
  
"It'd protect your brain from the visions."  
  
"That would be the hope, yes. I'm also concerned..." Wesley paused. "I don't know if she was bluffing - I'd like to think that she was, but that possibly means that she wasn't - but I don't want Lilah to kill anyone else, thinking that that's a way to get to me."  
  
"That's not your - "  
  
Wesley interrupted him. "I know it's not my fault. But I wonder, if I left L.A. for a time, if she might not turn her attention to some other project."  
  
"You don't seriously think she's gonna forget all about you just because you go away for a few weeks?"  
  
"No, not forget - but maybe get so busy with something else that her interest would wane. And it wouldn't be a few weeks, Angel... more like a few months, I'd think."  
  
" _Months?_ " Angel definitely looked stunned now. "But we just..."  
  
"I know. Believe me, in an ideal world this wouldn't be my first choice of action. But the longer I wait to find out if this spellcaster even exists, the greater the chance someone... or something... will get to him first. And the sooner I leave, the sooner Lilah can move on - hopefully."  
  
"How soon?"  
  
Wesley looked up at him. "I have a flight out in the morning." He stood up and handed two file folders to Angel. "One of these has copies of all the information I have - where I'll be going, as best I know, etcetera. I'll have my cell phone on me at all times, and you'll need to remember to keep yours with you as well, so that I can contact you if I have a vision."  
  
"What's this other one?" Angel asked as he flipped through it.  
  
"That's... don't look at it now, Angel." Wesley waited until Angel set it down. "It's just... it's some information that I've been collecting over the past couple of weeks, about Connor. A few possible sitings of him in northern California, one in Mexico. One in Utah, of all places. None of it's substantiated, and I'd hoped for some more time to check into it, but... it's a start."  
  
"Oh." Angel didn't thank him. It was a relief.  
  
"I have some local contacts who are still looking into where he might be - I'll be sure to let you know if I find out anything. As I said, I'd hoped to be here to handle it myself, but I'll do what I can from wherever I end up."  
  
"Right." Angel looked at the file on the desk in front of him. "Sorry, it's just... been a hell of a day, you know?"  
  
"I understand." Wesley dug in his pocket for his pill bottle and took two.  
  
"What time's your flight?"  
  
"Nine. I'd best think about getting home to pack a few things - I won't need much, but..."  
  
"You look tired," Angel observed.  
  
"It's just a headache." He gathered up the papers he'd need and paperclipped them together, then straightened the desk top so that it wouldn't be a complete mess for whoever used it next - Gunn? Fred? No, probably Angel. Wesley looked around the office. Books, papers, weapons that should have been cleaned and put away but were instead lying about on shelves. The last two years of his life. Wesley met his Angel's eyes with his own. "It'll be better soon."  
  
Angel just looked at him. "Will it?"  
  
Eventually, Wesley looked away. "So. Perhaps I should call a cab..."  
  
"No. Stay." When Wesley opened his mouth to protest, Angel raised a hand. "No, I know - I just meant - tonight. Stay tonight."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
A pause. "Stay."  
  


* * * * *

  
  


It was upside down and inside out, what was between them, and still they pretended that everything was normal. To admit to the confusion would be to give it power, power that neither of them was ready to surrender. Wesley had to fight to be in the here and now, but it was a battle worthy of his efforts.  
  
The water in the shower was hot until it grew cold, and then the cold consumed them until they couldn't deny it, and it didn't matter because they were both burning, burning. The sheets were dried with salt-sweat, and it didn't matter because they were both busy elsewhere, with hands and mouths and fingers and tongues becoming language that spoke its secrets in whispers and sibilants. Names were weapons and caresses. Desire was the ruler and they were the peasants, doing its bidding, bowing at its feet. Giving themselves up.  
  
"Wes." Hissed.  
  
"Angel." Whispered.  
  
Pounding, pounding, leaving bruises that would be weeks in the healing, bruises that would be touched each day with a sense of wonder that faded even as they did.  
  
And in the end there wasn't anything left to say.  
  
Just before the dawn's light crept over the horizon, Wesley woke to the sound of Angel putting his clothes on in the shadows of the room. He leaned up on one elbow, put his glasses on. The clock told him he'd have to leave soon if he wanted to pack before he went to the airport.  
  
Angel finished buttoning his shirt and sat on the edge of the bed to tie his shoes. Wesley reached out a hand and ran it along Angel's back, felt the firmness of the muscles under the thin layer of fabric. Angel turned slightly and their eyes met, Angel's nearly black in the darkened room. His hand came up and stroked the side of Wesley's head, just behind his ear, the sort of protective touch that spoke volumes without words.  
  
Wesley sat up, but Angel was already moving across the room to the doorway. The tension in his shoulders was clear in the dim light that spilled in from the hallway. Angel stood there in profile and didn't look in Wesley's direction again. His face, what Wesley could see of it, was expressionless.  
  
He spoke just once before he was gone.  
  
"Bye, Wes."  
  
  
  
  
  
---


End file.
